


Undeniable

by Heatherlly



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Het, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 04:36:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 124
Words: 332,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heatherlly/pseuds/Heatherlly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"As long as I live, my feelings for you will never fade," Gwen said, and she meant it. My own interpretation of the love story between Lancelot and Guinevere, throughout the first four seasons of BBC's Merlin and beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Secret Touch

#  **Chapter 1: A Secret Touch**

* * *

"Gaius?" Guinevere called softly, raising a tentative hand to knock on the chamber door.

There was no response.

Hesitantly, she pushed it open a crack. She hated to enter the chamber without permission, but Morgana had used the last of her sleeping draught that evening and sometimes needed an extra dose to help her sleep through the night.

"Hello?"

There were no candles burning, but the chamber was softly illuminated by moonlight pouring in from the window. One last call yielded nothing; the only response was silence, interrupted by the occasional muffled snore. Gwen wavered indecisively for a moment, then slipped inside.

Having been sent to fetch refills for Morgana on countless occasions, she knew where Gaius usually kept them. Unfortunately, the second shelf nearest the door was littered with dozens of bottles and vials, several of which held contents that looked exactly like the potion she needed. And since there were no labels to identify one from the other, it seemed like a lost cause.

She sighed helplessly, then jumped as the sound was echoed by a soft moan and a rustle of bedclothes behind her.

 _That's not Gaius_ , she thought to herself as she turned around, straining to see in the darkness. The silhouette was too tall, too slender, and even though the person was lying on their back, the round belly she couldn't help but associate with the old man was noticeably absent. Was it Merlin? But why would he be sleeping out here?

Her nervousness was overcome by intense curiosity as she took a few steps closer and looked down at the sleeping man.

He was young, perhaps only a couple years older than herself. She couldn't quite make out the exact color of his hair in the dim light, but it was obviously dark, somewhat shaggy and unkempt. His skin was tanned beneath the pallor of his fever and his clothing was made of rough homespun.

He had to be a commoner then, not a guest of the court. But what was he doing here? Gaius usually treated the townspeople in their own homes, making nightly rounds to see to the more serious cases. She'd known only of close friends or noble guests to actually spend the night in the physician's quarters.

Closing the remaining distance between herself and the bed, Gwen gazed down the man's face, unable to recall ever seeing him before. Perhaps he was a friend of Merlin's, some visitor from Ealdor and had encountered an unfortunate mishap on his journey?

But wouldn't Merlin have said something if he'd been expecting a guest? Not that she expected him to tell her everything about his life, of course, it just didn't seem like him not to mention it at all.

Then again, she'd barely even spoken to him that day. She'd been working on a new gown for Morgana and had barely left her chambers until midafternoon. There'd been no time to exchange more than a brief greeting as he'd passed her in the halls, muttering something about needing to gather mushrooms for a stew Gaius meant to cook that evening.

Putting her confusion aside, she leaned forward and studied the man more closely.

Beneath the light sheen of sweat and the sickly pallor of his skin, she couldn't help but notice that he was quite attractive. Crescents of long, dark lashes shielded his eyes, he had a straight, strong nose and his lips could only be described as sensual, even if it made her feel a little silly to think of them that way. Indeed, it was impossible to find any cause for complaint – even the coarse stubble that covered the lower half of his face somehow only added to his appeal.

She was used to seeing good looking men, of course. Many of the Knights of Camelot qualified as such… even Prince Arthur was pleasant enough to look at if one managed to ignore his insufferable arrogance long enough to notice his redeeming qualities.

And yet she couldn't tear her eyes away from this stranger's face, struck by the impression that there was something different about him she couldn't quite put her finger on. Perhaps it was only that he seemed so vulnerable as he lay there wounded and unconscious? No, not exactly… but what else could it be?

He let out another soft moan and she abandoned her whimsical musings, immediately shifting her attention to his injury. Studying the bandage that covered his side, she frowned as she noticed the splotches of blood that stained the snowy fabric. How deep was the wound? Was it serious? Maybe she should wake Gaius to see to him?

But then she shook her head with a small smile. If the man was in danger, there was no way he'd have been left out here alone and unsupervised. Gaius was a conscientious physician, known to keep all night vigils at a sickbed rather than leave a critically ill patient on their own until morning.

Even with that reassurance, she still couldn't help feeling concerned for the injured stranger. Reaching out with only the slightest hesitation, she laid a gentle hand on his forehead, which was cool and clammy in the aftermath of his recent fever. Worried he might be cold without a cover, she picked up a blanket and spread it carefully over his sleeping body. 

But rather than leaving after that, which would've been the sensible thing to do, she settled herself on the stool beside him. She didn't understand the impulse to keep touching him, but it was difficult to stop herself as long as she kept coming up with excuses for the gestures.

She wiped the lingering traces of sweat from his face to make him more comfortable, not because she enjoyed the texture of his skin beneath her fingers. Smoothing an errant lock of hair back from his brow had nothing to do with how soft it was, only that he seemed to be resting more peacefully, as if he were soothed by her touch. Yes, that was a perfectly valid reason to…

Of course, there was no excuse for the way her heart began to beat a little faster when he let out a soft sigh of contentment.

"What are you doing, Gwen?"

The whisper came from behind, shattering the spell and nearly making her jump out of her skin in the process. Letting out a sharp gasp, she rose so quickly that she knocked the stool over with a clatter, wincing as the man mumbled fretfully in his sleep.

"M-Merlin! I didn't... I wasn't..."

Realizing she'd been tenderly caressing the face of a stranger made her cheeks turn scarlet, made worse by the fact that it was the middle of the night. Swallowing hard, she desperately searched her mind for a reasonable explanation.

"Morgana was low on her sleeping draught and I..." She took a deep breath before she continued. "I thought I might be able to find it myself and not disturb anyone, but I didn't know which bottle was which, and..."

Merlin walked over to the shelf she'd been exploring earlier, retrieving one of the tiny bottles and handing it to her with a smile.

"I could use a bit of this myself," he grumbled. "Can you believe how loud Gaius snores? He's almost as bad as Arthur!"

Gwen smiled back, relieved to feel a little more like herself again after being strangely mesmerized and then startled out of her wits. Meanwhile, Merlin was still staring at her curiously, obviously expecting the rest of her explanation.

"I saw him while I was looking for the draught," she said, nodding awkwardly at the bed across the room. "I just thought I'd try and make him a little more comfortable since there was no one else awake to tend to him. Not that he needed tending. I mean, I'm sure Gaius already did everything he could..."

"It's okay, Gwen," Merlin reassured her as she trailed off in embarrassment. He was used to her clumsy apologies whenever she thought she'd said anything to offend someone. "I'm sure whatever you did was fine."

"Who is he?" she asked, unable to restrain her curiosity any longer.

"He says his name is Lancelot. I don't know anything else about him, but he saved my life."

Merlin went on to explain a strange creature with the head of an eagle and the body of a lion, his eyes growing wide as he described the vicious way it had attacked him and how the stranger had come to his rescue.

"The sword  _broke?_ " she said in disbelief. "How is that possible?"

"I don't know, Gwen. I saw him strike it right in the chest and you wouldn't believe it but..."

"What?"

"He's every bit as skilled as Camelot's greatest knights. Maybe even better than Arthur himself!"

Gwen resisted the urge to smile. She admired Merlin for many things – intelligence, compassion, humor and humility. But he wasn't a fighter himself, and it seemed unlikely that he'd know the first thing about judging anyone else's skill in combat either. Deciding that gratitude must be prompting a good bit of unintentional exaggeration, she chose not to call him out on it, changing the subject instead.

"Will he be all right?"

"Oh, yeah. Gaius says it's only a surface wound. The fever seems like it's already broken and with a good night's rest, he should be fine by morning."

Gwen was relieved. She didn't know anything about Lancelot, but somehow, she'd become invested in his fate.

 _He helped Merlin, after all_ , she reassured herself before she could start to wonder why she cared so much about an absolute stranger.  _He must've done something good to earn so much praise. And any friend of Merlin's is a friend of mine._

"I better be getting back to Morgana so I can drop this off and go home," she said, feeling guilty upon the realization that she must be keeping him awake. "You look tired and I'd like at least a couple hours of sleep in my own bed before morning."

"Yes, I should be getting back to my... floor," he responded with a rueful smile. "I guess Gaius and Lancelot are the only ones getting any decent rest around here tonight."

At the mention of Lancelot's name, she gave his slumbering form lingering glance. He must've been sleeping deeply if the sound of bottles clanking around and the conversation they'd periodically forgotten to whisper hadn't woken him. Maybe what she'd done really had given him some comfort after all. She hoped so.

"Merlin? You won't say anything to anyone about... you know..." she trailed off, trying to think of a way to describe it that wouldn't make her stutter and turn beet red.

He seemed confused by her request, which made her feel silly upon the realization that from his perspective, she'd only taken a moment to tend to a sick patient. It wasn't as if he could sense the strange attraction that had motivated her actions. 

"Don't worry, Gwen, I'm good at keeping secrets," he said with an enigmatic smile. "But if you're worried the rest of the world is going to find out that you have a kind heart, I'm afraid they already know."

Blushing, she slapped him lightly on the arm and wished him good night, shooting one last glance at the bed across the room before she turned and fled the chamber.


	2. Camelot

#  **Chapter 2: Camelot**

* * *

The following morning dawned clear and cool, the fresh breeze from the open window waking Lancelot with its soft caress. Lifting his head, he glanced around in confusion, his eyes falling on the elderly man who was moving around on the other side of the chamber. 

"Hello," he said, pausing to clear his throat. "Where am I?"

The man turned around, revealing a kind, careworn face. "You don't remember? Well, I suppose it's no surprise. You were already quite feverish when Merlin brought you to me last night."

 _Merlin..._ that was familiar.

And then Lancelot began to remember the events of the previous afternoon – happening upon the scrawny, dark haired stranger who'd been in danger of being ravaged by some peculiar looking creature. Yes, he'd attempted to fight the beast off and shattered his sword in the process, followed by a frantic race to safety and breathless introductions.

Much more vaguely, he recalled the man named Merlin reviving him with a gentle but persistent shake to his shoulder, promising a physician's care, food, and shelter if they could just make it back to Camelot.

 _Camelot_. That must be where he was then. Perhaps the old man was the physician Merlin had spoken of? 

_Camelot. At long last._  Lancelot remembered throwing his arm around Merlin's shoulders, being half assisted, half dragged along as his companion had babbled an endless stream of encouragements he couldn't quite recall. Although he remembered nothing after that, Merlin was clearly stronger than he looked if he'd managed to bring him this far. All the way to Camelot.

He was in  _Camelot_ … the place he had been trying to get to his whole life, it seemed, and he couldn't even remember entering the city gates, nor the town they must have passed through in order to get to wherever he was now. But all that mattered was that he was  _here_. The thought filled him with elation.

"My name is Gaius," the old man said, after giving him a moment to collect his thoughts. "I'm the Court Physician."

"Lancelot," he replied automatically as he puzzled over that.  _The court physician? Am I in the palace then?_  It didn't seem possible, especially since Merlin had been dressed as humbly as Lancelot was himself. Was he an apprentice to this man, or maybe a servant?

Gaius seemed to sense his confusion.

"Merlin is my assistant, as well as servant here in the palace. I'm sure he'll tell you more about himself... if he ever decides to grace us with his presence, that is," he said with an exasperated sigh and a wave toward a door that must have led to a separate bedchamber. There was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes, making it clear that his words were not truly meant as a criticism.

Lancelot sat up on the narrow bed, wincing and pressing a hand to his side as he did so.

"The wound is nothing serious. Now that the fever has passed, the remaining soreness should be gone by the end of the day. I can give you something for the pain if you need it."

"No, thank you. I'll be fine." He didn't like to take medicine when it wasn't absolutely necessary to do so and the pain wasn't so bad. It had caught him off guard was all.

Gaius nodded. "Perhaps some breakfast then?"

Lancelot nodded, feeling his stomach growl at the mere suggestion of food. Even more famished than he'd thought, he quickly devoured the bowl of porridge he was given, not minding that it was a little on the bland side as long as it was hot and filling. 

Soon enough, a groggy looking Merlin emerged from the other room, mumbling a brief "good morning" as he seated himself at the table and helped himself to a serving of breakfast.

"Porridge  _again?_ " he grumbled at the older man. But then he began to eat voraciously, his poorly disguised enthusiasm taking the sting from his complaint.

"If you want something different, you'll just have to wake up a little earlier and fix it yourself."

"I'll wake up earlier when I don't have to share my room with someone who snores loud enough to wake the dead," Merlin shot back, trying to hide a grin.

"My boy, when you're as old as I am, we'll see how loud  _you_  snore! Fair enough though. Lancelot can stay in there with you tonight and I'll sleep in my own bed. It's far more comfortable than yours anyway."

Lancelot had been quietly listening to their bantering, enjoying the obvious closeness between them. It was only at the mention of his name that Merlin turned around, finally noticing he was awake. Lancelot wasn't offended. He was good at being unobtrusive, an ability that often served him well in combat. The loud, aggressive types never failed to underestimate him due to his quiet nature, giving him a surprising advantage over his foes.

"You look much better than you did last night," Merlin mumbled around a mouthful of food. "Glad to see it."

"Thanks to you," Lancelot replied, ignoring the lingering pain in his side as he rose and joined the others at the table. "I don't know how I can repay your kindness."

Merlin looked surprised. "You were only injured because you saved my life.  _I'm_ the one that should be in debt to  _you_."

He opened his mouth to protest, ready to insist that Merlin owed him nothing. It was what he'd been training to do for years, after all. He'd been glad to help, even if that assistance had been far more ineffective than he would've liked.

Just then, Gaius rose and picked up a case of what must've been medical supplies. "I'm off to see to my patients. Merlin, you might want to see that our guest receives some hot water and clean clothes. I'm sure he'll want to bathe. Come to think of it, it wouldn't hurt for you to do the same."

After clearing the breakfast dishes, Merlin dragged a large tub from a nearby closet and scurried back and forth with a pair of buckets. Ignoring Lancelot's insistence that he'd be happy to do it himself, he gradually filled the tub with steaming water, beside which he set a chunk of soap and a small stack of washing and drying cloths.

"I'll leave you to bathe. Let me just take your clothes so I can have them cleaned."

Lancelot began to undress, frowning at the large stain on his shirt. His trousers were in even worse condition – ripped in several places, filthy and caked with dried blood. They should really be tossed out altogether, but since he'd lost his meager possessions somewhere in the forest, the clothing he wore was all he had. Perhaps if Merlin could give him directions, he might be able to search the woods later that afternoon.

The other man seemed to sense what he was thinking as walked across the room, retrieving a familiar battered leather satchel. "Does this belong to you?" he said with a grin.

Lancelot stared at the bag in amazement. "Where did you find it?"

"You must have dropped it when you rushed in to save me. I saw it lying near a bush on our walk back and thought it might be yours. Glad it was. I really wasn't looking forward to being put in the stocks or locked up as a thief if it belonged to someone else."

"Believe me, there's nothing in there worth stealing," Lancelot said with a smile.  _Well, almost nothing_ , he added silently.

Merlin nodded, then gestured at the tub. "You'll want to wash up before the water gets cold." He gathered the discarded clothing, added it to a large basket of laundry and exited the chamber, leaving Lancelot to his bath.

The water felt  _heavenly_. He sank slowly into the tub, relishing the soothing heat as it enveloped his skin. Where he'd come from, cold lakes during summer and hurried sponge baths in winter were what he knew of bathing. This was something else entirely.

He leaned his head back against the edge, closing his eyes with a sigh of contentment. The warm water chased away the remaining soreness from his injury and melted the tension from his muscles, such blissful sensations that he could've easily stayed right where he was for hours. It was only when he remembered Merlin would be returning soon and might like to bathe as well that he set about the business of washing the dirt, blood, and grime from his skin.

As the water began to cool, he rose and toweled himself off, feeling clean and refreshed as he quickly dressed then debated on what to do next. Should he go looking for the other man or wait for him to return?

Deciding the first option would be rude, he wandered aimlessly around the chamber, inspecting the vials and potions that littered the shelves. He opened a book he found lying on the table, briefly thumbing through its pages before slamming it shut with a frown of distaste. As much as he tried to be well-informed on most subjects, he already knew everything he needed to about the treatment of boils… which was absolutely  _nothing_.

 _Where is Merlin?_  he wondered again, pacing back and forth with a growing sense of restlessness. He didn't want to be impatient, but now that he was in Camelot, he desperately wanted to go out and do a bit of exploring. Years of waiting, hoping, dreaming and now here he was… right in the middle of city without having any idea what it actually _looked_  like.

Eager or not, however, it wouldn't be right to take off without a word after the kindness Merlin and Gaius had shown him. But there was at least one window here in the chamber, wasn't there? Unfortunately, there was too much clutter to get close enough for a look outside, and he didn't feel comfortable moving Gaius's things.

Now that he'd had the idea, however, he wasn't willing to give up so easily.

Glancing around, he spotted the door that led to Merlin's room. He was reluctant to enter without permission, but in the end, good manners were overruled by sheer curiosity. He wouldn't be disturbing the other man's belongings, after all, only having a brief look at the city if there was a window inside that was low enough to reach. 

That was how Merlin found him nearly an hour later, standing on a box in the small bedchamber as he gazed out over Camelot in rapt fascination.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" the other man said, causing Lancelot to stumble before he managed to steady himself. Having trained diligently to avoid being caught off guard, it was disconcerting to realize that he'd been mesmerized enough to forget his surroundings. Not that Merlin was any kind of threat, of course, but a knight should never allow such things to happen under  _any_  circumstances. It was far too easy to let carelessness become a habit.

He was right though – it  _was_ beautiful.

"Ever since I was a child, I've dreamed of coming here," Lancelot responded, unable to disguise the longing in his voice. "It's my life's ambition, to join the Knights of Camelot."

Merlin listened in silence and he began to feel awkward, especially when his words were met with a smile.  _I must sound very foolish,_  he thought to himself, realizing that countless men must come here every day with the same ambition. Citizens like Merlin must be used to hearing these things… silly dreams that probably came to nothing in most cases.

"I know what you're thinking," he continued with a touch of embarrassment. "I expect too much. After all, who am I? They have their pick of the best and bravest in the land…"

"Lancelot?"

"Yes?" he replied cautiously.

"They're going to  _love_  you."

A thrill shot through him. Filled with barely suppressed eagerness and wild hope, he took several steps closer to his new friend. "They are?"

"I've seen you in action. You could shame the great Arthur himself!"

"I hardly think so," he said with a self-conscious laugh. Now he _knew_ the other man couldn't possibly be serious.

He didn't think Merlin was the type of person who'd mock him… perhaps he was just trying to be kind? Prince Arthur was a legend throughout the kingdom, known far and wide for his courage, bravery, and matchless skill in battle. Perhaps some of the more bizarre tales that had reached his remote village had been exaggerated, but they couldn't  _all_  be lies, could they?

"In fact, you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to talk to him right now."

Lancelot was stunned. "You  _know_  Arthur?"

"Oh yes," Merlin replied with a cheeky grin. But by the time Lancelot was able to swallow his shock enough to start asking questions, the other man was already out the door.


	3. Passing Fancies

#  **Chapter 3: Passing Fancies**

* * *

"You seem tired," Morgana commented as Gwen stifled a yawn. 

"It's nothing, my lady," she replied, making an effort to appear more alert as she sat up a little straighter and resumed her sewing with more enthusiasm. "I'm sure I'll be fine once I get up and start moving. You'll need your bath prepared soon and then there's the laundry, and..." 

"You were up late retrieving my draught from Gaius, weren't you? And after all, I didn't even need another dose. I slept better than I have in weeks." 

"That's wonderful," Gwen said. And then wanting to alleviate any guilt the other woman might be feeling on her behalf, she added, "But it wasn't the draught that kept me awake. I just had a late night." 

She could have kicked herself as Morgana's bright eyes fixed on her with avid curiosity. 

It was true though. Even after she'd made her way home, undressed and crawled into bed in the chill hours just before dawn, sleep had not claimed her. She'd tossed and turned for what had seemed like hours, her mind filled with thoughts of the man named Lancelot and her curious reaction to him. She'd puzzled over it for quite some time, finally deciding it had been a fanciful impulse of the moment, nothing more. 

But by the time she'd come to that conclusion, it had been time to get up again. She'd climbed out of bed with a weary sigh, resigning herself to the fact that it was going to be a _very_ long day. 

"Gwen?" Morgana inquired, bringing her back to the present. 

She blinked and shook her head. "Yes, my lady? I'm sorry, did you ask me something?" 

"Not yet. I was just getting to that. I'm expecting to hear a fully detailed account of a late night tryst between you and a certain dark haired suitor of yours."

Gwen's mouth dropped open, stunned. How did she know? Had Merlin said something? He must have! And yet she'd been here in Morgana's chamber since just after sunrise. Could he really have come here, passed along the information and left, all before her arrival? Would he have broken his promise to keep her secret? 

No, that was something she couldn't imagine him doing, certainly not for the sake of idle gossip. Besides, he hadn't given her the feeling that he believed there was anything to gossip about in the first place. 

No, that wasn't it. But then _how?_

Morgana's voice shook her out of her jumbled reverie. "You don't have to be embarrassed, Gwen. Really, I think it's sweet. We all need a little romance and you're well suited for each other. I just want to know how it went." 

"My lady, I..." she trailed off, having absolutely no idea how to respond. Had Morgana even _met_ Lancelot? How was that possible, when he'd only arrived yesterday evening, barely conscious and burning with fever?

"He's attractive in his own way. A little skinny and goofy for my taste, but those big blue eyes of his are quite pretty and he does have nice lips. Is he a good kisser?" 

_Merlin! She thinks I had some late night tryst with... Merlin?_

All right, that made a lot more sense, allowing her to relax somewhat. She could only imagine what Morgana would say if she knew what had actually happened the night before, something she'd been desperately trying to avoid. If Gwen so much as _glanced_ at a man in Morgana's line of sight, she was teased mercilessly, called a shameless hussy or any number of other things that made her blush and stutter in embarrassment. 

"I wouldn't know, my lady. I've never kissed him." 

That was the truth, although she could see from the look on the other woman's face that she didn't believe it. Well, she could think what she liked – Gwen might have had a small inclination toward Merlin right after they'd met, but it had never been anything she'd acted on. These days, she simply counted him as a good friend. 

Surprisingly, Morgana didn't question her further. Gwen knew her too well to hope that she'd heard the last on the subject, but was grateful for the reprieve nonetheless as she left to fetch water for her bath. 

She met Merlin in the hall, obviously on the same errand. Greeting him with a friendly smile, she paused when he did, accepting the inevitable. One thing about Merlin... he _loved_ to talk. It was rare that he allowed Gwen to pass him in a corridor without stopping for at least a brief chat.

"Water for Arthur? I thought he preferred to bathe at night these days." 

That had been the topic of much griping on Merlin's part over the past week or so. _"Pompous ass doesn't even care that some of us don't get to eat our suppers until 10 o'clock because we're too busy dragging his filthy bathwater back and forth at all hours of the night."_

Offhand comments like these were the reason servants knew everything that went on inside the palace, even where it concerned those they'd never worked for directly. There was no such thing as privacy among those in her position, something their masters and mistresses never seemed to realize. 

Suddenly, Gwen wondered what the great Prince Arthur would say if he knew the laundry maids, not to mention the entire kitchen staff, knew all about the time he'd fallen into a thorn bush and had spent hours in Gaius's chamber, yowling like a scalded cat as the physician had painstakingly plucked tiny spurs from his backside.

She suppressed a giggle, just before Merlin's voice intruded on her wandering thoughts. "Not for Arthur. It's for Lancelot. He's awake and feeling much better." 

"Oh!" she exclaimed, feeling flustered. "Well, I'm glad to hear it." 

A brief, yet surprisingly vivid image of Lancelot lying in a tub, head thrown back and eyes closed, flashed through her mind. _Stop that!_ she scolded herself. What on earth had gotten into her?! 

"Why are you blushing?"

"N-no reason," she stammered. "What I mean is... something Morgana said a few minutes ago, that's all. And speaking of Morgana, she's not going to be happy if she doesn't have her bath soon. I should be getting back to work." 

Merlin accepted that without question as he moved to let her pass. "I guess I'll see you later then. Oh... and Gwen?" 

"Yes?" she replied cautiously. 

"Get some rest when you can. You look exhausted." 

She nodded, appreciating his concern. "I will." 

The rest of the day passed with an agonizing slowness. By noon, Gwen was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open. Two o'clock found her scrubbing the same tiny section of Morgana's floor for twenty minutes straight, finding it increasingly difficult to focus on her chores. It was only the fact that she'd performed them hundreds of times in the past that helped her get anything done at all. 

Around four o'clock, Morgana finally took pity on her. "Gwen, go home and get some rest. I can look after myself this evening." 

"Oh, no, my lady," she protested with more energy than she'd shown in hours. "Really, I'm fine. Just a bit of midafternoon sleepiness, that's all." 

"Gwen," Morgana said more firmly, with an edge of real concern in her voice. "You're _exhausted_. Besides, I'm expecting a visitor tonight, so I would've sent you home early anyway. Just help me dress and you can go. There's nothing here that can't be left until tomorrow." 

A visitor. Gwen knew exactly what that meant, especially when combined with a desire for privacy. The guest would be male, unusually handsome, either one of two knights Morgana favored, or perhaps the dashing young lord who sometimes traveled to Camelot to compete in the jousting tournaments. 

The coming would be circumspect, a proper and respectful visit to the Lady Morgana. But the departure would be something else entirely, only a shadow creeping out of her chambers in the middle of the night with a great deal of subterfuge. 

And tomorrow, Gwen would don the faded blue cloak she only ever wore for this occasion, face hidden by the voluminous hood and hands concealed in thick leather gloves. Morgana would hand her two gold pieces and she'd venture to the lower town to procure a potion that "must be taken within 24 hours to prevent a little nuisance." 

The stringy haired old crone had happily supplied this information the first time she'd gone on this errand, followed by a lecherous wink. After that, Gwen had asked no more questions. 

But as uncomfortable as that part of it was, it never occurred to her to think badly of Morgana for her visitors. It was not her place to judge, after all, and the truth was that she envied the other woman for her confidence. 

Meanwhile, Gwen always felt awkward and insecure, never quite sure how to behave around men. She'd long ago decided it was for the best that they rarely seemed to notice her, being as she'd probably just embarrass herself and scare any potential suitors away. It seemed better to avoid that particular disappointment.

Of course, it had been much easier to think like that when she hadn't known what it was to have feelings for someone. 

Her opinion on the matter had changed after Merlin's arrival in Camelot. That had been nothing more than a girlhood fancy, but it had felt wonderful to look forward to seeing him more than anyone else, then to wait in breathless anticipation for every word he spoke. Of course, the most surprising part of all had been the way even the smallest touch had set her stomach aflutter. 

If that was what could be expected from a passing inclination, she could only imagine what it must be like to _really_ fall in love. Indeed, tales about dashing heroes, chivalry, and courtly love no longer made her roll her eyes as they once had. She'd sigh wistfully whenever she thought of them, wondering if she'd ever find someone who loved _her_ with such tireless devotion. 

But for the time being, the only longing she felt was for her own bed, and so with a quick farewell to Morgana, she gathered her things and walked home. Crawling beneath the blankets without bothering to undress, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, not waking until well past sunrise the following morning.


	4. First Code

#  **Chapter 4: First Code**

* * *

Arthur Pendragon, Prince of Camelot... Merlin knew him well enough to speak to him on Lancelot's behalf?

Shock gave way to elation, soon replaced by uncertainty. Even if it was true, why would Arthur condescend to talk someone like him? After all, the man was  _royalty_ ; surely he made his own decisions as to who he permitted to try out for the knighthood? Why would he give a stranger a chance, sight unseen, based on the word of a servant... especially one who couldn't possibly be well versed in the art of combat?

Worse, what if Merlin was punished for his impertinence in even asking for such a thing?

Lancelot should have stopped him... but then again, did he have a better plan? He'd been training for most of his life with this opportunity in mind, years of swordplay, offensive and defensive tactics, battle strategy, anything one could possibly learn about the art of combat. He'd tried to emulate everything he'd ever heard about Arthur and his knights, and could recite the Knight's Code from memory.

He'd been so focused on preparation, in fact, that he'd given little thought to what might come next once he'd arrived at his destination. He'd desperately wanted to become a knight... more specifically, a Knight of Camelot. The plan had been to hone his skills and when he felt ready, journey to the one place where he could hope to make that dream come true. The rest would fall into place.

Suddenly, he felt incredibly naive. The truth was that he knew very little about the practicalities involved in actually  _accomplishing_  his goal. He'd memorized countless tales about bravery and heroism, could talk all day about the lofty ideals he admired. He fought well and with honor, and understood how to serve and obey. Back in his village when he'd fantasized about this moment, that had seemed like enough.

But now he had to face reality. How did someone even _try out_  for the knighthood, whether or not they were lucky enough to become one? Given the opportunity, he believed he had as much chance of proving himself worthy as anyone else did. But how did one get the chance to do that? It was the one question he'd never asked himself, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do if Merlin's idea of speaking with Arthur proved fruitless.

Eventually, his anxious musings were interrupted by the other man's return. He was smiling as he entered the chamber... that had to be a good sign, right?

"I haven't spoken with Arthur yet," he said before Lancelot had a chance to bombard him with questions. "He was on his way down to the training grounds when I found him. But you're in luck. He's going to be giving one of the recruits his final test in just a few minutes. Want to go down and see the action?"

Lancelot nodded vigorously, so eager he nearly tripped over his own feet as he followed Merlin out into the hall.

"So how do you know Arthur?" he asked as they made their way through the corridors and out into the streets.

"I happen to be his personal servant," Merlin replied. "Believe me, I know him  _very_ well."

Lancelot absorbed this, at first in silent disbelief. After a moment though, it all began to make sense. If there was one thing he believed in, it was fate. Destiny. Even as a humble peasant boy, living half a kingdom away from Camelot, he'd somehow  _known_  he'd make his way here someday. The first time he'd ever lifted a sword, he'd immediately understood what he was meant to do with his life.

When he grew weary after relentless hours of training, he frequently pushed himself to continue with twice the determination he'd felt to begin with. He'd keep going until his fingers bled, muscles ached, to the point where he was ready to drop from exhaustion… all because he knew beyond a shadow of doubt that it was his destiny he was fighting to achieve.

When something was meant to be, it just felt  _right_. Lancelot believed this with his whole heart.

It could be no mere coincidence that the creature had appeared when it did... no accident that the person he'd rushed in to save had been servant to Prince Arthur himself. All the pieces were falling into place, as if it had all been planned for him somehow.

Nervousness was replaced by heady anticipation as they reached the training grounds and Lancelot laid eyes on him for the first time. Arthur looked splendid, golden hair glinting and silver mail shining in the early afternoon sunlight. His tabard was a bold shade of red, proudly emblazoned with the Pendragon sigil, and he had the physique of a hardened warrior. He looked exactly as Lancelot had always imagined – strong, confident, bright eyed, regal. A true commander.

"Pass this and you're a Knight of Camelot," the prince called out to the waiting recruit. "Fail, and you're no one. You face the most feared of all foes, the ultimate killing machine. You face me."

He was completely self assured, and why shouldn't he be? If even _half_ the stories were true, Arthur was a fighter without equal. Lancelot felt another surge of excitement, realizing he was about to see those legendary skills for himself.

"Your challenge is to last through one minute of free combat."

And then his mind grew quiet, going to a place it always did whenever swordplay was involved. Nothing existed beyond the sound of steel on steel, the need to study each opponent to determine his strengths and weaknesses. He didn't have to be in combat himself to be so singularly focused. Even as an observer, he evaluated every move a participant made, imagining the perfect countermove.

"Grummond, Second Son of Wessex. Your time starts now. "

He watched as the man in the purple worked his way across the field toward Arthur, swinging his swords back and forth in a unnecessary display of bravado. Lancelot didn't want to be unkind, but the spectacle was… well, it was ridiculous. Obviously Arthur agreed, staring at the recruit with a great deal of skepticism as he approached. Merlin stifled a laugh.

It was over in seconds; Arthur neatly maneuvered beneath the man's clumsy swing, putting him on the ground with two lightning quick blows. Even though Lancelot winced in sympathy, he couldn't be surprised by the outcome. A good warrior conserved his strength until the moment of impact. He didn't waste an ounce of energy on superfluous movement, certainly not on nonsensical displays of whirling swords. Any man who thought combat had anything to do with showing off had a lot to learn.

"Well, I guess that's that," Merlin said with a grin. "I need to go help Arthur with his armor. Can you find your way back on your own?"

Lancelot opened his mouth to speak, trying to find a polite way to ask if he still intended to speak with the prince. He didn't want to be pushy, but the scene they'd just witnessed made him all the more eager for his own opportunity. He still didn't know how he'd measure up, but was sure he'd prove a far better opponent than Grummond, Second Son of Wessex.

"Don't worry, Lancelot," Merlin said, anticipating what he was about to say. "I'll talk to him."

"Thank you, Merlin. And yes, I can find my own way back. I'll see you when you return."

He would've enjoyed a walk through the streets of Camelot, exploring the city and taking in the sights. For now though, he was far too preoccupied by thoughts of Merlin's imminent conversation with Arthur to do much of anything except return to the chamber and wait.

And  _wait_  he did, as the afternoon dragged by at a snail's pace. He stared out the window at the city in an attempt to distract himself, even thumbed through a couple of books on the assumption that nothing could be more distasteful than the tome about treating boils he'd encountered earlier. Discovering just how wrong he'd been, he placed "The Physician's Guide to Fungal Infections" back on the shelf with a shudder.

He did come across a book of ancient legends that held his interest for about ten minutes, an impressive length of time under the circumstances. Dragons had always fascinated him; he'd have to remember to ask Gaius if he had anything else he might be able to read on the subject.

Eventually the door opened, causing him to knock over a chair in his haste to find out what Arthur had said. But it was only Gaius, looking somewhat startled by such an excited reception. If he thought the behavior strange, however, he made no comment; with a brief nod, he turned his attention to grinding herbs with a mortar and pestle.

Just as Lancelot was about to ask if there was some task he could perform to help pass the time, Merlin returned at long last.

"Well? Did you speak to him?"

Merlin said he had, though the tone of his voice gave nothing away.

"And?"

That was met by a somber shake of his head.

Lancelot knew a brief moment of crushing disappointment, just before Merlin started to smile.

"He said he would like to meet you."

From despair to elation in a matter of seconds. Everything he'd ever hoped for and it was close, _so close_ to becoming a reality. 

_"Yes!"_  he exclaimed, hardly able to believe it. "Thank you.  _Thank you!"_

"Really, it was no problem." Merlin cleared his throat awkwardly. "You're not a nobleman by any chance, are you?"

"A nobleman? No!" Lancelot laughed incredulously at the idea. "Good lord, no. Why do you ask?"

"It's just that there's this..."

"The First Code of Camelot states that only those of noble blood can serve as a knight," Gaius explained, his voice soft and gentle. "Uther created the knights to protect this kingdom from those who wished to destroy it. He knew he would have to trust each of his knights with his life. So he chose them from the families that had sworn allegiance to him. Ever since that day, only the sons of noble families have served as knights."

No… this was so much worse than anything he'd felt up until this moment. Even if Arthur had refused to hear Merlin out and Lancelot had been forced to look for some other way, he'd have still felt he had a  _chance_. Now there was none.

"But that's not fair!" Merlin protested.

"Fair or unfair, that's the way it is," Gaius said sternly, and then much more gently, "I'm sorry, Lancelot. Truly, I am."

He was beyond words, burying his head in his hands as he attempted to reconcile the devastating truth in his mind. Perhaps it would've been easier to accept if he'd been given an opportunity, only to fail due to lack of skill. At least that was something he would've had some sort of control over… disappointing, no doubt, but he could have resumed his training until he was ready to try again.

But this? Not a lack of ability, no failing in honor or loyalty, no breach of code. A lifelong dream destroyed over nothing more than an accident of birth? That seemed so _wrong._

And yet Uther Pendragon was the greatest and most venerated ruler in all the five kingdoms. Why would he enforce such restrictions if they weren't necessary?

A touch of doubt entered Lancelot's mind and for the first time, he wondered if the elder Pendragon was the perfect king after all. Perhaps he was just being unfair, at least where this was concerned.

But immediately on the heels of that thought, he felt deeply ashamed. No wonder ordinary people weren't allowed to serve as knights, if such moments of disloyalty came to them so easily.

He went back and forth for quite some time, trying to make sense of the jumble of conflicted emotions in his head. In the end, he supposed it didn't matter. Fair or unfair, he'd never be a knight now... would never have a chance to become the only thing he'd ever wanted to be.

And without that, he had nothing left.


	5. Sympathy

#  **Chapter 5: Sympathy**

* * *

Afternoon melted into evening as Lancelot struggled to come to terms with his destroyed hopes. For the most part, Merlin and Gaius left him alone to brood, blessed solitude for which he was immensely grateful.

Supper was served, which was eaten in silence. His depression was obviously responsible for the somber mood of the others, adding guilt to the host of other unpleasant emotions he was already feeling. Nonetheless, he was beyond attempting any facade of cheerfulness. He remembered his manners enough to thank Gaius for the food, at least, but he couldn't recall if he'd eaten any of it once the meal was over.

And then later in Merlin's room, he finally found himself put on the spot.

"Why do you want to be a knight so much?"

He thought about dodging the question. It wasn't something that was easy to talk about to begin with, and it would be that much more difficult in light of what had happened that afternoon. Why not just say he was looking for a more purposeful life, or that he simply enjoyed a good fight? Both were true, of course. But in the end, he decided to be honest. 

"When I was a boy, my village was attacked by raiders from the northern plains. They were slaughtered where they stood. My father, my mother. Everyone. I alone escaped. I vowed that day that never again would I be helpless in the face of tyranny. I made swordcraft my life. Every waking hour since that day, I've devoted to the art of combat." 

"When I was ready, I set forth for Camelot." He paused as a fresh wave of disappointment washed over him. "And now, it seems my journey ends. Everything I fought for, wasted."

His hopeless gaze was met by eyes filled with compassion, giving him comfort without words. Despite everything, he'd been lucky to meet someone so kind and understanding... the first real friend he'd ever had.

"I give you my word," Merlin said quietly. "Whatever it takes, I will make this right."

Lancelot knew very well there was nothing he could do, but it was enough just to know he cared.

"Thank you, Merlin," he said with feeling. "For everything."

They settled down for the night after a debate over the sleeping arrangements, where each man insisted he'd be just fine on the floor while refusing to consider any objection from the other.

"It's your bed, Merlin. Besides, you've done enough for me already."

"Lancelot, you're the guest. I'm perfectly comfortable on the floor, really."

"I don't mind. Believe me, I've slept in far worse places."

"So have I," Merlin shot back with a contrary grin.

Eventually, they compromised by agreeing to take turns. This led to renewed insistence on both parts that tonight was  _their_ night for the floor, a matter that was only settled when Merlin produced a battered silver coin and flipped it in the air. Lancelot chose tails.

The man who ended up on the floor was out in a matter of minutes, but the other couldn't seem to fall asleep. _What am I to do with myself now?_ he asked himself for the hundredth time as he stared up at the ceiling, but there was still no answer. Or maybe he was just reluctant to look for one, fearing that settling on an alternate plan for his life would be the ultimate show of defeat.

As impossible as it might seem, he wasn't ready to give up on his dream just yet.

Perhaps he'd stay here in Camelot. He didn't want to impose on Merlin and Gaius indefinitely, but maybe he could find some sort of work that would earn him enough to take up residence at the inn or as a boarder somewhere. He didn't have any trade skills, but he was young, strong, certainly not feebleminded. Surely there was  _something_ he could do to earn a living.

Yes, that was a solid plan. He'd learn everything he could about the city, the knights, the nobility, anything that might help him find another way to achieve his goal. If he could just be patient and continue to improve his swordcraft whenever he had the chance, there was no telling what might be possible in the future.

Maybe this wasn't a defeat after all. It could be a hero's trial like the tales of old, a temporary setback, something meant to test his strength and determination. And if that were true, he'd come out on the other side as a better man, stronger, more experienced in the ways of the world. Yes… perhaps this was just a necessary part of fulfilling the destiny he'd always dreamed of.

Feeling vastly relieved at the thought, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

It was a bright eyed, cheerful Guinevere who greeted Merlin when she discovered him on her doorstep the following morning. A blissful night of uninterrupted sleep had done wonders for her disposition, leaving her feeling energetic and more than ready to face the day.

"Hello, Merlin," she said with a smile. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Morning, Gwen. I was wondering if I could talk to you about something. Do you have a few minutes?"

"Yes, of course! Come on in, I've just finished making breakfast. Would you like something to eat?"

He nodded enthusiastically and followed her inside.

 _Silly question_ , she thought to herself as she served him, then fixed herself a plate and joined him at the table. Merlin was _always_ hungry. He seemed determined to prove that now, as he attacked his fried eggs, toast, and apple slices as if it had been a week since he'd last eaten.

"I'm sorry," she said after a moment. "I know it isn't much."

"Are you kidding?" he mumbled around a mouthful of food. "Gaius has been serving nothing but porridge lately. Believe me, this is great!"

She smiled, eating more slowly as she waited for him to finish and get around to what he'd come to talk about. 

"You know how Uther's rules and policies aren't always fair, right?"

"Merlin," she said, giving him a meaningful look. "Two months ago, I was in a dungeon cell waiting to be burned at the stake for something I didn't even do, thanks to our king's idea of  _justice_. Uther wouldn't know right from wrong if it jumped up and bit him on his royal backside."

He looked surprised by her vehemence, even as he nodded in agreement. Gwen wouldn't have normally been so outspoken on the subject, but this was a private conversation in her own home and she trusted Merlin completely.

"What if someone you cared about needed your help?" he said in a rush. "What if the only thing this person had ever wanted was something they couldn't have because of one of Uther's stupid rules? A rule that was unfair and shouldn't even exist in the first place?"

"I don't understand…"

"If there was a way for you to help this person, something you could do to make sure no one ever found out, would you do it, even if you were  _technically_ breaking a rule?"

Gwen was growing increasingly concerned. "Merlin, are you in some kind of trouble?"

"Not exactly," he said, trailing off into silence as if searching for another way to explain himself.

"You know you can trust me. I'd like to help in any way I can, but I need to know what the problem is first. Please, tell me what's going on."

He hesitated, but after a moment, he took a deep breath and it all came out – Lancelot's dream of becoming a Knight of Camelot, the lifelong ambition that had brought him to the city, followed by an even more impassioned description of his skill with a sword than she heard the first night in Gaius's chamber.

"Gwen, you should've seen him. I took him down to the training grounds to watch Arthur yesterday and he was so excited. I don't know if I've ever seen someone who wanted something so badly. He's been training for this his whole life."

She thought back to the man she'd secretly tended in Gaius's chambers. After a good night's sleep, her actions didn't seem nearly as absurd as they had at the time. There was something of the way she'd been affected by Lancelot in how Merlin was speaking about him now. Perhaps she'd somehow sensed those qualities in him, too... the goodness, the enthusiasm, the hopeful dreams?

"If he's really that good, then what's stopping him?" she asked, though she had a sinking feeling as she remembered Merlin's earlier questions. "Did you speak to Arthur? Has he refused to let Lancelot try out for some reason?"

"It's not Arthur. Not exactly. He told me I could bring Lancelot to meet him at the training grounds tomorrow morning. But that's only because he believes Lancelot is a noble. You see, only  _nobles_ can become knights. Uther's rule, otherwise known as the First Code of Camelot."

"Not surprising. Without noble blood, the rest of us might as well be dirt under Uther's feet. But poor Lancelot didn't know about the code? Well, I guess that's not surprising if he came from some distant village as you said." 

She felt a rush of sympathy, imagining a hopeful young boy training for years to become a knight, only to arrive in Camelot to find out he didn't even have a chance. Curse Uther and his ridiculous policies.

"I know," Merlin said softly. "You should have seen him last night after Gaius told him. He was so upset he didn't even speak for hours. I wanted to help, but I didn't know what to say."

Gwen's thoughts went back to something else he'd told her. "You mentioned that Arthur believes Lancelot is a noble. Why does he think so?"

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I may have sort of... told him he was."

 _"Merlin!_  When Arthur meets him, he's going to know you were lying. Or worse, he's going to think Lancelot lied to you both."

"I know, Gwen. That's what I came to talk to you about. You see, to try out for the knights, every recruit must present his Seal of Nobility…"

"That makes it worse! What do you plan to do when Lancelot goes to meet Arthur and doesn't have one?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you if you'll let me finish. I know of somewhere the future Sir Lancelot could find a perfectly legitimate looking seal to present in the morning. That's what I came to ask you... if you were in my place, would you help him?"

 _Sir Lancelot,_ she mused, momentarily distracted. It had a nice sound, as if his name had been designed for the title. But while there was no question in her mind that he deserved a chance, she couldn't help but worry.

"Merlin, I agree that Uther's policy is wrong. I hate that Lancelot has to suffer for it and wish there was another way…"

"But there  _is_ , Gwen! That's what I'm trying to tell you."

"A  _forgery?_ Where will you get such a thing? And what if you're caught? You'd be risking not only your freedom, but your  _life_ , and Lancelot's, too! Have you considered that? "

"Of course I have. Despite what people think, I'm not a fool. I wouldn't be considering this if I didn't know when I was doing. The only thing I'm trying to ask you is that  _if_ you had a safe way to help someone you cared about in this situation, would you do it?"

If she were honest with herself, she had to admit that from everything she knew about Lancelot, it would be terribly unjust  _not_ to give him a fighting chance, even if that involved a risky deception. Besides, any further warnings were likely to fall on deaf ears anyway.

"Without hesitation," she said softly.

"I knew you'd say that."

She rolled her eyes at him, then asked, "How does Lancelot feel about this idea? He's agreed to it?"

Merlin hesitated. "Well, no. He doesn't know about it yet. But I promised to help him and that's exactly what I intend to do."

"He may not agree to it, you know. If he's as honorable as you say he is, he might not be willing to lie, even if that lie comes with the best of intentions. Or he may just decide that the risk is too great."

"Believe me, Gwen. He'll do it."

Rising from the table, she began to clear the long forgotten breakfast dishes. She'd completely lost track of time during their conversation and Morgana was sure to be expecting her soon. Merlin apologized for taking up so much of her morning, heading for the door, then pausing with one hand on the knob.

"I was wondering if you could do me a favor? Well, not for me. For Lancelot."

 _What can I possibly do for him?_  she wondered to herself as she motioned for Merlin to continue.

"Well, he's going to need clothes… also weapons and armor. If this is going to work, he can't exactly meet Arthur dressed as a peasant. Do you think you could help? I'll find a way to pay you back."

She laughed. "I guess it's lucky for you both that I'm a seamstress  _and_ the daughter of a blacksmith. I should be back home by late afternoon. You can bring him by for me to take measurements then...  _if_ he agrees to your plan, that is. I'm sure I can have whatever he needs finished by tomorrow morning."

"Thank you, Gwen!" he said happily, surprising her with a hug. "You're the best."

She returned the embrace, swatting at him playfully. "Off with you now... unless you'd like to explain to Morgana why I'm an hour late to work this morning."

"No, I'd rather not. See you this afternoon!"

After he left, she gathered her things and made her way to the palace. She wasn't late after all; Morgana was just waking up as she arrived, greeting her happily with a huge smile on her lovely face. 

 _Seems I'm not the only one who had a pleasant evening,_ she thought to herself in amusement. 

Returning the smile with a grin of her own, she hurried around gathering up discarded clothing, humming to herself as she did so. Between Morgana's blissful mood and her own anticipation about finally getting to meet the mysterious Lancelot, she couldn't wait to see what the day would bring.


	6. Deception

#  **Chapter 6: Deception**

* * *

Merlin was nowhere to be found when Lancelot woke the next morning. Gaius was there, however, mixing up potions in the outer chamber, the air warm and fragrant with the scent of brewing herbs.

"Ah, good morning, Lancelot!" the physician greeted him cheerfully. "You're looking better. Did you sleep well?"

"I did, thank you," he replied. "I'm sorry I got up so late though. I must have missed Merlin."

"Yes, he was out of here early this morning. Surprisingly early, in fact. He didn't even wait around for breakfast. Speaking of food, are you hungry?"

To his surprise, Lancelot realized he was  _famished_. He nodded, sitting down at the table as Gaius served him a meal that certainly _wasn't_ porridge: ham, fresh baked bread, soft white cheese, and a mug of spiced cider to wash it down. He ate ravenously, not stopping until the plate was empty.

Gaius watched him, smiling. "I'm glad to see you have your appetite back. You barely touched your supper last night."

"I'm truly sorry. I..." 

"You had a difficult day. There's no need to apologize. Besides, Merlin was happy to finish your leftovers."

"Do you know how long he'll be gone?" Lancelot asked. He didn't want to sit here alone with his thoughts all day. If Merlin was going to be gone for a while, he wanted to go out and explore the city of Camelot. It was time to start learning more about this place, especially if he intended on staying indefinitely.

"I believe he said he was going to visit Gwen this morning," Gaius mused, half to himself. "After that, he'll probably be serving Arthur for most of the afternoon."

 _Serving the man I never will,_  Lancelot thought dismally. No, he'd done enough moping. Being miserable wasn't going to help matters.

Instead, he chose to focus on the other part of the statement. "Gwen?"

"Yes, maid to the Lady Morgana. Sweet girl. She and Merlin are very close."

Merlin had a sweetheart... that was nice. He had little experience with such things himself beyond perhaps a stolen kiss on nights where too much ale had made him bolder than usual. Beyond that, he'd been so focused on his training that the girls had usually left him alone, preferring the company of boys who were willing to sneak off to the woods for a bit of clumsy groping at any given time.

That had suited him just fine. Not that he didn't crave those things sometimes, it had just seemed pointless to seek them out back in the village. His life and future were in Camelot, after all. He'd always dreamed he'd find love here, too, after he'd become a knight and had something to offer a woman. Honor, protection, devotion, chivalry. That was what love was to him.

Gaius cleared his throat, shaking him from his reverie. "I must be off to see to my patients. Would you mind doing me a favor this afternoon?"

"Of course. Anything."

"I thought you might go down to the lower town and purchase some apples for me. Merlin really likes apple tarts and I thought it would be a nice treat for him since he missed out on breakfast. There are plenty of fruit sellers, I imagine they shouldn't be too hard to find. About ten should do the trick. Can you do that?"

"Yes, I'd be glad to."

Lancelot suddenly wondered if Gaius really  _needed_ the apples, or if this was just his way of finding something for him to do to keep his mind off of his recent disappointment. Either way, it was an excuse to explore the city, something he was very much looking forward to. As soon as the door closed, he dressed and pulled on his boots, then made his way through the palace corridors and out into the street.

The sun was shining brightly, the mild breeze fragrant with the scent of roasting meat, baking bread, along with other smells that were not as easy to identify, but pleasant nonetheless. Camelot's streets were bustling with activity: sellers advertising their wares, an old man singing a bawdy song as he winked at a group of young serving girls, sending them into a fit of giggles. Children laughed and played, the sounds of a dozen different craftsmen filling the air with the sharp ringing of blacksmith hammers and other instruments of trade...

Fascinated, Lancelot forgot all about his inner conflict. He stopped to admire a fine collection of pearl handled daggers at a seller's booth, marveling over the extraordinary craftsmanship. Passing a fruit merchant, he stopped to buy apples for Gaius, smiling in thanks as the young girl took his coin and handed him the sack of fruit with a very noticeable blush staining her cheeks.

Later, he opened it to discover she'd included several extra apples and a fine, ripe pear.

Hearing the sweetly familiar sound of steel on steel in the distance, he briefly considered heading over to the training grounds to watch the action.  _No_ , he decided.  _Too soon._  Avoiding any obvious reminders of his failed hopes seemed to be working for the time being. He wasn't ready to reopen the wound just yet.

Instead, he made his way back to Gaius's chamber, proud that he only lost his way twice. He was hoping Merlin would be there when he arrived; despite the ups and downs over the past couple days, he genuinely enjoyed the other man's company. Losing his family so young, then spending so much time on training, he hadn't known what it was like to have friends before coming to Camelot. It felt nice.  _Really_ nice.

No one was around, however, so he busied himself with practical matters – washing the breakfast dishes, dusting and straightening a few things around the chamber, then polishing his boots. The door finally opened as he was peeling the apples he'd bought for supper; he glanced up to see Merlin waving a piece of rolled parchment around, blue eyes bright with excitement.

"What's that?"

" _This_ is your seal of nobility."

 _What? Is this some sort of joke?_  If so, it wasn't funny.

"I don't understand," he said out loud.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Merlin announced proudly, unrolling the parchment with a flourish. "I give you Lancelot, Fifth Son of Lord Eldred of Northumbria."

_Surely he didn't mean..._

"No, Merlin," Lancelot said emphatically. "No."

 _The only thing stopping you from becoming a knight is a piece of paper,_ a tiny voice inside him whispered.  _A piece of paper just like that one._ With effort, he silenced the thought.

"Oh, right," Merlin said skeptically, as he turned away and rolled up the parchment. "So you don't want to be a knight then."

 _"Of course I do!"_  he nearly shouted, the disappointment he'd been suppressing all day finally rising to the surface. He wasn't angry at Merlin. He was frustrated at the entire situation. His friend had been right about one thing... it  _wasn't_ fair. He knew that now. But fair or unfair, rules were rules.  _Unless_... he stopped himself short.

"Damn the rules! The rules are wrong!" Merlin suddenly burst out, almost as if he was reading his mind.

"But it's a lie. It's against everything the knights stand for."

"You have as much right to be a knight as any man. I know it."

"But the rules, Merlin," he tried one last time, feeling his resolve weaken.

"We're not breaking the rules," Merlin said, sounding more convincing by the second. "We're bending them, that's all. Just to get your foot in the door. After that you'll be judged on your merits alone. And if you succeed, if they make you a knight, it'll be because you  _earned_ it, noble or not. I can't change the way things are done around here, but  _you_ can... if you let me help you."

Lancelot had no further objections to offer. Maybe a lie wasn't such a bad thing if it had a noble purpose? After all, if he became a knight, it  _would_ be based on his skill and physical prowess, would it not? Would he be any less loyal, any less honorable, any less willing to sacrifice his life for Camelot if need be, just because he wasn't a noble? Of course not.

He said nothing, only sighed in resignation and nodded. Merlin broke into a huge grin.

"Right. I should probably tell you that you're meeting Arthur at the training grounds tomorrow morning."

"You already made arrangements with Arthur, not knowing if I'd agree? How am I supposed to convince him that I'm a noble? I don't even have a sword, Merlin. Mine shattered when I attacked the creature, remember? I don't have the right clothes, or…" He sat down with a sigh. "Oh, this is  _never_ going to work."

Merlin gave him an exasperated look. "Yes, but that's not all I did. I also have a friend who knows all about you and is willing to help with weapons, clothing, and armor. Believe me, I've thought this all through. Now come on. She's expecting us."

 _He really is amazing,_  Lancelot thought as he followed the other man out into the halls.  _He sees a problem, and no matter how hopeless it may seem, he's already thinking of a dozen different solutions._  Arthur was very lucky to have such a smart, resourceful servant at his disposal.

They made their way to the lower town, walking almost leisurely as Merlin chattered about nothing in particular. The streets were much more familiar this time; Lancelot noticed a few of the sellers nod at them in greeting, seeming to recognize them both. He'd only been here two days and Camelot was already beginning to feel more like home than anywhere he'd ever known.

Soon, they reached a small house that looked very similar to countless others they'd passed. Merlin raised his hand to knock, but before he had the chance, the door opened.

Without warning, Lancelot found himself staring down into one of the loveliest faces he'd ever seen.

 _Stare_ was exactly what he did. He was unable to speak or even move, as Merlin and the girl exchanged greetings. He didn't hear what they said, didn't even catch her name. All he could do was stare.

She was beautiful – large, long lashed dark eyes, soft black curls, tawny skin. It wasn't just her features that were so captivating though. There was  _something_ about her face. Something open, kind, gentle...  _mesmerizing_. He felt like he'd had the wind knocked out of him.

"... and  _this_ is Lancelot," he heard Merlin say as if from a great distance, and she turned her attention on  _him_.

She said nothing for an endless time, just gazed up at him with those fascinating eyes of hers. For a moment, he could almost believe she was rendered as defenseless by his presence as he was by hers. But then she took a deep breath and gave him a friendly smile. 

Good lord, she had a beautiful mouth.

"Hello, Lancelot," she said softly.

 _Speak!_ he prodded himself frantically.  _Say something!_

"H-hello, my lady," he managed to stutter out, giving an awkward bow.  _I must seem like a simpleminded fool._

If she agreed with that sentiment, however, it certainly didn't show on her face. She just gave him another smile, more of a reassuring one this time, which made him feel a little more at ease. Merlin, momentarily forgotten, cleared his throat rather pointedly.

"Come on in," she said hastily. "I need to get these measurements done if I'm to have everything finished by morning."

Lancelot tried to ignore Merlin's curious stare as they followed her inside.


	7. Infatuation

#  **Chapter 7: Infatuation**

* * *

Gwen could feel Lancelot's eyes following her around the room as she searched for her measuring tape. Or at least, that was what she was  _pretending_ to be doing, needing to collect her thoughts before facing him again.

Throughout the afternoon, she'd grown increasingly nervous about the idea of actually meeting him. Still feeling self-conscious about their first encounter, she'd worried that although he'd been deeply asleep at the time, he'd somehow be able to see some evidence of it on her face. It was ridiculous, she knew, but she couldn't help it.

Even when she'd finally been able to reassure herself that it was silly to be concerned over  _that_ , she'd remained convinced that she'd embarrass herself in some other way.

 _I'll be clumsy and awkward or say the wrong thing like I always do,_  she'd thought dismally. And then he'd give her that _look_ she'd seen a dozen times before. He'd look at her with kindness or pity and then she'd know he'd never see her as anything more than a sweet person, maybe even a friend if she were lucky.

She'd thought she'd grown used to it by now. For some reason though, imagining that happening with Lancelot had been unbearable.

 _You don't know anything about him, except that he was kind to Merlin and wants to be a knight,_ she'd reminded herself sternly. _You've never even seen him awake, Gwen. You've never talked to him, never heard him speak... why should it matter what he thinks of you?_

By the time Merlin and Lancelot had arrived, she'd been watching for them for half an hour. She'd imagined a dozen possible introductions by then, most of which had involved her saying something utterly ridiculous and humiliating herself.

When the moment had come, however, it had been unlike anything she could've ever expected.

She had looked up into Lancelot's eyes, so much more captivating than any of the possibilities she'd considered. They were a deep shade of brown – soft, gentle, honest eyes, fringed with thick lashes. Beautiful, but that's not what had struck her dumb, leaving her unable to speak for what had seemed an endless time.

It had been the  _look_ in those eyes. She  _knew_ that look. It was one she'd seen directed at Morgana many times, though  _never_ at herself. Lancelot had gazed at her as if he were mesmerized, like she was the only person in the world.

Somehow she'd found her voice, surprised to discover no trace of the stutter that normally affected her around men she didn't know. 

Unfortunately, Lancelot hadn't been so lucky; his voice had caught in his throat as he'd tried to respond. He'd seemed, shy, embarrassed, completely unsure as to what to say or do. Having felt that way countless times herself, she'd felt a rush of sympathy, doing her best to put him at ease with an understanding smile.

He'd felt that way over  _her_ , she realized again, feeling slightly giddy. He'd been nervous to the point of being tongue-tied over the way  _her_ presence had affected  _him_. It would've been impossible to believe if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes.

The most surprising part was the way it had made her feel... confident and beautiful, something she  _never_ felt around men. For the first time, she hadn't been worried about seeming awkward herself. She'd only been focused on trying to put him at ease.

Even more amazing was the realization that she still felt that way.

"Found it!" she called in mock triumph, pulling the measuring tape from its usual spot.

* * *

Lancelot tried not to fidget as the lovely girl knelt at his feet, taking measurements of his lower half. To his embarrassment, his body had reacted the moment she'd touched him, and he was terrified she'd recognize what seemed like a _very_ obvious bulge in his trousers. He cringed as she wrapped her measuring tape around his upper thigh, dangerously close to the area that had him so concerned.

 _What will she think of me if she notices?_ he wondered anxiously.  _I'll seem like a complete lecher. She'll probably order me out of her house!_

He tried to speak and provide some sort of distraction, finding it necessary to pause and clear his throat as he stumbled over the first word. "Th... this is very kind of you, er..."

"Gwen," she said, flashing him a brilliant smile as she rose to measure him from wrist to shoulder.

"Gwen," he repeated.

"Short for Guinevere."

"Ah. Then thank you... Guinevere." The name definitely suited her – elegant and beautiful.

"Don't thank me," she said brightly as she moved around to measure the breadth of his shoulders. "Thank Merlin."

Lancelot had completely forgotten anyone else was in the room until Gwen mentioned his name, feeling a little guilty as he shot his friend a look of gratitude. Merlin waved away the praise with a self-conscious smile.

"Sorry, can you raise your arms?" she said, and the rest of the world disappeared all over again as he did as she asked, feeling her arms wrap around him from behind. In truth, she was barely touching him. It was not the first time he'd had his measurements taken and what she was doing wasn't any different than the elderly seamstress back in the village had done.

And yet it was another thing entirely. Her fingers, her touch, were softer and more gentle. He could feel her warmth against his back, catch the scent of her hair as she moved around him. She smelled of lavender and sunshine, sweet and utterly intoxicating. Everything about her aroused his senses in a way that nothing else had ever done before.

"I think it's great that Merlin's gotten you this chance," she told him, wrapping the measuring tape around his neck. "We need men like you."

"You do?"

Gwen paused for a heartbeat, gazing up at him with those impossibly beautiful eyes of hers. And then seeming flustered, she gave herself a shake. "Well, not me personally, but you know... Camelot. Camelot needs knights."

 _Of course._  He shook his head in embarrassment, hoping he hadn't made her feel too uncomfortable. That was the last thing he would've wanted and not only because he felt so drawn to her. She was being more than kind; he'd have wanted to make her feel at ease regardless.

"... not just Arthur and his kind, but ordinary people like you and me."

She smiled up at him as she finished and suddenly, he couldn't help but grin back. "Well, I'm not a knight yet, my lady."

"And I'm not a lady," she replied with a blush and a giggle that left him giddy.

"Sorry, my..." Addressing her that way felt natural, something that came to him without conscious thought. He wanted to say something else, but then his mind went blank… there was a moment of flustered panic just before she rescued him.

"Okay, we're done," she said, as if there had been no awkward silence at all. "I should have these ready in no time. Nice to meet you, Lancelot."

She extended a hand to shake his, but on impulse, he lifted her fingers to kiss them instead.

When he raised his eyes to her face again, he knew it had been the right thing to do. There was something vulnerable in her expression, leaving him with the feeling that even though she'd managed to hide it better than he had, the attraction between them was definitely mutual. 

He found it nearly impossible to take his eyes off her, even when Merlin clapped him lightly on the back, letting him know it was time to leave. Finally turning away with a great deal of reluctance, he was already missing her face the moment he shut the door behind him.

* * *

"She seems lovely," he commented as they were making their way back to Gaius's chamber. "Guinevere." 

Of course, Merlin would know exactly who he was talking about either way, but it was nice to have an excuse to say her name again.

"Oh yeah, she is. And the best seamstress in Camelot, I promise."

And then as if from out of nowhere, he remembered Gaius mentioning Merlin's visit to Gwen that morning, remarking that the two of them were close. He shouldn't be allowing himself to feel the things he was feeling if her heart belonged to someone else… especially if that person was a friend.

"Are you two…?"

Thankfully, Merlin laughed at the suggestion. "No, no. Just friends."

That prompted a huge sigh of relief, which he did his best to disguise as a yawn. Even though he barely knew Gwen, might very well be getting ahead of himself, he'd never felt such a strong attraction to anyone in his life. He hated the idea of having to stifle those feelings, especially if they might be reciprocated.

Merlin gave him a sideways glance. "Are you trying to say you might like her?"

"Well, of course I like her. She seems like a nice person. I really appreciate her help… and yours, of course."

"You know what I mean."

He shrugged, pretending not to notice Merlin's knowing grin.

* * *

It was going to be another sleepless night, Gwen realized as she arranged bolts of cloth and sewing materials on the table. Lancelot would need a tabard, of course. Having seen his clothing, she decided he'd also need new trousers and shirt if he was going to give the overall appearance of nobility. His boots weren't so bad, newly polished and of decent quality. But everything else was too simple to be convincing.

Not that  _she_ thought there was anything wrong with the way he looked, of course. It was just that she'd been around nobles her whole life and knew how particular they could be about such things.

She'd been focused on practical matters since the men had left, gathering materials together, preparing a light supper, then carrying a plate of food over to her father, who'd be working late at his forge as he usually did. Now that everything was settled, however, and she'd sat down to sew the blue and red badge of the house of Northumbria, her mind began to wander.

 _Lancelot is attracted to me._  There was no denying it, he'd made it blatantly obvious in every possible way. She still felt giddy, remembering how he'd gazed at her as if she were some ravishing beauty, listening to every word she'd spoken as if it were of paramount importance. 

It was amazing to realize that plain, shy little Guinevere could have such an effect on someone… especially someone like  _him_.

From time to time, she'd stop what she was doing to rub the place where his lips had touched the back of her hand, imagining it all over again. His kiss had been firm but gentle, warm breath tickling her skin and sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. It had been something so small, yet she was still feeling it hours later.

She couldn't make excuses for what had happened in Gaius's chamber anymore. Now that she'd truly met Lancelot, there was no denying she was attracted to him... and had been right from the beginning.

In the bright light of day, he was even more handsome than she'd imagined when she'd seen him sleeping in a dimly lit room, sweating and pallid in the aftermath of fever. He was taller than she'd assumed, a full head above herself. Slender, yet strong and broad shouldered, she'd been able to feel the hard muscles under her fingertips as she'd taken his measurements.

Perhaps Merlin was right about him being such a good fighter. He certainly had the kind of body that could only come from long hours of training. And training, of course, meant skill.

 _I suppose we'll find out soon enough,_  she mused to herself.

As the night deepened, she wondered if he was asleep, hoping nerves weren't keeping him awake and that Arthur wouldn't intimidate him too much in the morning. She hoped the new clothing would help him feel more confident, serving as a reminder that he deserved this opportunity as much as any other man.

The tabard needed to be orange with the red and blue patch of Northumbria stitched to the front. Not colors she might have chosen herself, but necessary to give the appearance of authenticity. Meanwhile, the trousers would have to be black; any other color would clash with the already dubious combination. 

But the shirt wouldn't even be visible under tabard and mail, giving Gwen her choice of colors.  _White_ , she decided. Yes, white would complement Lancelot's dark coloring, emphasizing his deeply tanned skin and rich brown hair and eyes.

As she measured and cut the fabric, she was distracted by thoughts of his appearance, picturing his face again in her mind. She lost all concentration as she remembered his eyes, gazing down at her with a gentle intensity that had taken her breath away. And that led to musings upon his lips, of course, surprisingly soft when they'd touched her skin. His smile, the way it had lit up his face and made her feel as if...

" _Ouch!_ " she cried aloud, her daydreams rudely disrupted by a sharp stab of pain and the sight of blood welling from her finger. Scolding herself for her carelessness, she bandaged the cut with a discarded strip of fabric, resolving to remain focused on her sewing for the rest of the evening.

 _Easier said than done,_ she thought to herself with a resigned sigh.


	8. Preparation

#  **Chapter 8: Preparation**

* * *

Lancelot barely slept that night. His mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of Gwen, and as the evening wore on, increasing nervousness over his meeting with Arthur.

 _What will I say?_ he wondered anxiously.  _What if I shame myself somehow? What if my words or actions make it obvious that I'm not a noble? I've never even been around any nobles! I don't know how to behave like one._

All the while, Merlin slept peacefully, oblivious to his inner turmoil. Lancelot was glad for it.

 _But I have to go through with it now,_ he told himself firmly.  _This is my one chance, and besides, it isn't only about me anymore._

Both Merlin and Gwen were doing everything in their power to help him realize his long desired ambition. It was something he wasn't quite sure he deserved, but that didn't make him any less indebted to them both. More than that, he felt incredibly humbled to have two such amazing people willing to do so much on his behalf, determined to make them proud rather than be any cause for disappointment.

Even in the face of that resolve, however, he still found it impossible to sleep. He quietly paced the room, wishing there was a sword or some other blade nearby that he could sharpen, an activity he always found soothing.

Opening the window, he gazed out over Camelot for a while, temporarily calmed by the peacefulness of the slumbering city. It was beautiful by daylight, full of bright sunshine and bustling activity. But bathed in soft moonlight, fast asleep beneath a blanket of stars, it held a special loveliness.

The thought of beautiful things inevitably brought him back to Gwen, wondering what she might be doing at that moment. It had to be well after midnight, so she was probably sleeping along with the rest of the world.

 _She must be beautiful when she sleeps_ , he mused to himself. Her face would be soft and relaxed, tousled curls tumbling in disarray across the pillow. Perhaps her lips would be slightly parted and she'd let out a gentle sigh from time to time, caught in the throes of some pleasant dream.

It was a lovely image, one that completely distracted him from his worries until he noticed the sky was beginning to lighten just outside the window.  _Is it dawn already? I haven't slept at all!_

He panicked over that for a moment, then reminded himself that he'd fought very well in the past without any rest. At this point, it was probably better to stay awake than risk the grogginess that would come from trying to sleep just a little. He only had an hour at best before Merlin would be awake and they'd be on their way to meet Arthur.

With that thought, he stripped down and washed up, using the rough rag and bucket of cold water he found in the corner of the chamber. Naked and shivering, he couldn't help longing for a nice hot bath like the one he'd had a couple days before. He'd never cared much for luxuries, but that was an exception he could easily get used to.

If he passed his test and became a knight, there would be many more hot baths in his future. He'd carry the steaming buckets back and forth himself every evening, just for the lovely sensation of submerging himself in hot water, feeling it melt the tension from his sore muscles after a hard day's training.

 _If_... so much was riding on that tiny word. His entire future could be summed up in two letters.  _If_ he managed to convince Arthur he was indeed a noble.  _If_ he possessed the skill to pass whatever tests might be required of him.  _If_ Arthur deemed him sufficiently worthy to become a Knight of Camelot. His whole life, everything he'd ever wanted, all a question of  _if_.

Throughout all his years of training, Lancelot had thought he'd understood what it would mean to become a knight. But now he knew the possibilities went far beyond anything he'd ever imagined for himself. It could mean a permanent home in the city he already loved with his whole heart, along with friends like Merlin, people he genuinely cared about. And it could mean a future with someone like Gwen, the chance to fall in love... perhaps even marriage and a family of his own someday.  _If_ he became a knight, so many paths would be open to him. So many more than he'd realized until that moment.

_If..._

He'd just finished dressing and was pulling on his boots when Merlin woke up. Gaius was already gone for the day, it seemed, but he'd left two plates of fresh bread, soft cheese, and apple slices on the table for their breakfast. They ate quickly and in relative silence, one distracted and anxious, the other still groggy.

Soon enough, they were on their way.

* * *

Gwen was jarred awake by loud, urgent pounding on her front door. Startled, she raised her head in confusion.  _What...?_

The long night came back to her then... sewing more and more frantically as dawn had approached, increasingly worried that she wouldn't be finished in time. She remembered putting the last few stitches in the tabard just as pale light had begun to spill through the window, exhausted yet triumphant that she'd managed to accomplish everything she'd set out to do.

Then she had a more hazy memory of laying her head on her arms.  _Just for a moment,_ she'd told herself. Only long enough to rest her eyes a little, which had been sore and dry from the long night of straining to see the tiny stitches in the dim candlelight. Obviously, she'd fallen asleep right then and there.

 _That must be Merlin and Lancelot_ , she realized as her mind cleared and brought her back to the present. Spurred into action, she did her best to smooth her hair as she opened the door, greeting them both with a sleepy smile.

"I-I'm sorry," she said a little awkwardly. "Have you been knocking long?"

"Not long," Merlin said with a grin. "Sorry we had to wake you, Gwen. Those scissors must have made for a comfortable pillow."

Raising a hand to her face, she blushed as she felt the imprint on her cheek. "I was sewing all night and ended up falling asleep at the table."

She snuck a glance at Lancelot, half expecting to see some reaction to her awkwardness in his eyes. Instead, there was only the soft, mesmerized look he'd given her the day before, along with a tremendous amount of guilt. Just she was about to reassure him he had nothing to feel bad about, however, Merlin's voice intruded on her thoughts.

"I need to go help Arthur dress... lucky he hasn't put me in the stocks for being off duty so much these past few days. Gwen, can you help Lancelot with his clothes and armor, then bring him to the training grounds?"

"Yes, of course," she said automatically.

As soon as Merlin left, she showed Lancelot inside, trying not to think about the fact that she was now  _alone_ with him. If she did, she'd start feeling nervous and would probably say something silly and embarrass them both. Besides, there were far more important things to worry about at the moment.

He watched her quietly as she straightened the mess on the table, opening his mouth and then closing it again with an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

"Here you are," she announced, handing him what he needed with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "Put these on. You can change in, um... in there."

Mumbling his thanks, he accepted the clothing, studying the shirt with what appeared to be an approving look as he ducked behind the curtain. The bright morning sunshine illuminated the room, tracing a sharp outline of his silhouette as he lifted his arms above his head and removed his shirt. She tried not to stare, but couldn't help admiring the slender, yet powerful lines of his body.

"These are very fine clothes, my lady," he said, bringing her back to her senses somewhat. "Truly, I wasn't expecting all of this. You've been very kind."

"It's nothing, really," she assured him, smiling at the praise. "I'm glad to help. Does everything fit?"

He stepped out from behind the curtain. "See for yourself, my... I mean, Gwen."

"You may call me "my lady" if you wish," she said as she turned to face him, finding him standing much closer than she'd expected. She felt a little breathless as she gazed up into his eyes. "I rather like it."

It would've been easy to stand there all morning, just marveling over the soft, admiring way he was looking down at her. Instead, she forced herself to step backward to have a better view of her handiwork.

Yes, she'd been right... white _was_ a great choice for his coloring. He was so handsome in the shirt and trousers, both of which fit him perfectly, that it seemed a shame to cover them up with tabard and mail. Unfortunately, there was little choice in the matter and so she reached under the bed, pulling out the sword and armor she'd chosen for him the evening before.

"Looks wonderful so far," she said with a smile, handing him the mail shirt. "Now this."

Lancelot struggled with the mail, visibly embarrassed as he wrestled with the cowl. It was obvious that he'd never worn anything like it before, which wasn't a surprise. Crafting any sort of armor was expensive; it wasn't something the average commoner had access to.

"Here, let me..." she said gently, making a few practiced adjustments until everything lay flat and smooth before helping him into his tabard.

"Thank you, my lady."

"You're welcome," she said brightly. "Now all that's left is your sword, of course."

With a sudden flash of uncertainty, she retrieved the weapon she'd chosen for him. She knew a good bit about weaponry, of course, being a blacksmith's daughter, but men varied quite a lot in their preferences. What if this one didn't suit him?

But then her worry faded as he took it from her hands, testing grip and balance with an expression of awe. "This is the finest sword I've ever seen," he said softly, far too sincere for her to doubt him.

She smiled proudly. "My father made it."

"He's a talented man. But… well, are you sure it will be all right for me to use this? It must be worth..."

"It won't be missed."

Following that, he put on his belt and gloves before sliding the sword into its scabbard. Striding away a few paces, he turned and looked at her anxiously, studying her eyes for a reaction. "Well?"

At first, all she could do was stare. She'd seen many nobles in her life and yet somehow, not a single one of them had ever looked half as _noble_ as simple, humble Lancelot did in mail and borrowed insignia, gloved hand resting nervously on the pommel of her father's sword.

This was how those legendary knights in tales of old must have appeared, the dashing warriors and romantic heroes from ancient legends. She'd never been able to imagine any of them looking like the nobles she'd known, arrogant and pampered with privilege and excess. No, they would've been like Lancelot; – simple and good, eyes shining with hope and courage.

Of course, those eyes were filled with uncertainty as she continued to gape at him without saying a word. She gave herself a shake, then told him the only thing that seemed to make sense in that moment.

"You're  _perfect_."


	9. Arthur

#  **Chapter 9: Arthur**

* * *

Lancelot walked beside Gwen, listening attentively as she kept up a steady stream of chatter. He nodded and smiled down at her as she talked, realizing she was doing it for his benefit and appreciating her efforts. Not only did she remove any pressure for him to speak, she was providing a distraction to help him keep his mind off his nervousness.

She shared her home with her father, she said, a blacksmith named Tom, and had lost her mother when she was small. After speaking of her childhood a bit, she told him a little about her work with the Lady Morgana and how much she liked it.

Soon enough, however, they arrived at the training grounds, meeting up with an enthusiastic Merlin on the sidelines. Arthur was leading a group of knights through an exercise as the pair of supporters positioned themselves on either side of Lancelot, trying to reassure him with various encouragements.

"Don't let Arthur intimidate you," Gwen told him. "He likes to throw his authority around, but really, he's just an overgrown boy. Don't take him too seriously."

Merlin snorted in agreement. "You should hear some of the things he says to  _me_. Threatens me ten times a day with the most awful things you can imagine and  _never_ follows through on any of them. Besides, I've seen you go up against a winged monster, Lancelot. Surely Arthur can't be more frightening than that. "

He wanted to take their words to heart, to see Arthur as more human and less intimidating. But he couldn't forget that his entire future depended on his ability to make a good impression on this man, to prove himself a worthy opponent. In truth, nothing  _anyone_ could have said in that moment would've lessened his anxiety.

"Well, you certainly look the part," Merlin said cheerfully, making a couple small adjustments to his clothing.

"Doesn't he just?" Gwen agreed. She'd done a beautiful job on his clothing, of course, even if his costume only made him feel more awkward somehow. Necessary or not, such fine clothes seemed to draw attention to how humble he really was rather than accomplishing the opposite.

"I don't feel it," he muttered, so nervous he could barely look at either of them.

_Please let me get through this. Don't let this be a wasted effort. Let me prove myself worthy._

And then his anxious thoughts were interrupted as Arthur finished his exercise and dismissed the men.

"Here's your chance," Merlin said with an encouraging pat on his shoulder. "Go for it."

Despite his fears, he stepped forward without hesitation.

"Yes?" Arthur said, giving him a quizzical look.

"Lancelot, Fifth Son of Lord Eldred of Northumbria," he replied with a stiff nod. _At least I didn't stutter_ , he thought to himself, ready to claim any small victory that might boost his flagging confidence.

"Lance...a lot? My servant mentioned you. Got your seal?"

"Sire," he said, giving the prince a respectful bow as he held out the roll of parchment.

The next thing he knew, he was on his backside on the ground, stunned by a hard blow to the face.

"Sluggish reactions," Arthur said, and too late, Lancelot realized it had been a test. "On a battlefield you'd be dead by now. Come back when you're ready."

 _That can't be it. No._ Lancelot flashed back to his years of training, remembered pushing himself beyond exhaustion nearly every day just to get to  _this_ moment. He thought of Merlin going to great lengths to obtain the Seal of Nobility, just to give him this chance. And he pictured Gwen sewing tirelessly throughout the night, helping him dress this morning, and then looking at him with so much faith in her eyes.

With that, he rose to his feet and placed his hand on his sword. No, he wasn't willing to give up so easily.

"I'm ready now, sire," he announced boldly.

Just for a moment, he could have sworn he saw something like respect in the other man's eyes. 

"You are, are you? Fine. You can start by cleaning out the stables."

Or maybe  _not_. Did that mean he'd blown his chance? Or was this another test? It  _must_ be a test... Merlin was grinning and giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up.

"I can't say I envy you, Lancelot," he said a moment later, letting out a sympathetic laugh. "Can't tell you how many times I've had to muck out Arthur's horses. Don't worry though, that's just his way. I bet he wants to make you nice and humble before he tests your skill. Any advantage he can get, you know."

Lancelot let out a deep breath, incredibly relieved that the meeting was over, especially since it hadn't been anywhere near as bad as he'd feared. He hadn't been rejected outright and had done nothing to shame himself. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was rather proud of his swift recovery after the first test, and if this was what it took to finally have a chance to prove himself in combat, then Arthur would have the most spotless stables in five kingdoms.

He smiled at Merlin. "I'm already about as humble as I can get."

"Maybe, but Arthur doesn't know that. Probably thinks you're just another cocky noble who needs to be taken down a few pegs. Humor him. It'll be worth it."

" _Merlin!_ " a demanding voice called in the distance. "My armor isn't going to polish itself!"

"Somehow, Lancelot, I don't think  _you're_ the one who needs a lesson in humility. I better go. See you tonight!" He trotted away, joining Arthur as they walked back to the palace.

Gwen had been quiet during the brief conversation, but then she smiled up at him as she said, "I need to see about Morgana. She's sure to be awake by now and will be wondering where I am. But you did well, Lancelot. Very well."

"Thank you, my lady."

He wanted to find some other way to express his gratitude for her help, to let her know how much he appreciated everything she'd done. Really,  _anything_ that gave him an excuse to linger just a few more minutes in her presence would've been just fine by him. They both had somewhere to be, however, so for the time being, he only bid her farewell, reflecting again on how lovely she was.

* * *

Lancelot worked tirelessly at first, but around midafternoon, his sleepless night began to catch up with him. Following that, it was determination rather than energy that kept him going. It was a tedious job, especially considering the size of the royal stables and the impressive number of horses they contained.

Dozens of animals created an  _unbelievable_ amount of dung, he quickly realized. He'd always disliked cleaning stables anyway, but back in his village, they were small buildings that held perhaps three or four at a time. They were  _nothing_ compared to  _this_.

He kept reminding himself that he should be grateful for the opportunity, especially when covered from head to toe in horse dung, wrinkling his nose at a smell he was quite sure was permanently embedded in his nostrils.

 _I should feel honored,_ a monotone voice inside him murmured when the sky began to darken. Exhausted, sore and famished, he'd just realized he still had hours of work to do before he could hope to be finished.

"Lancelot?"

Startled, he turned to find Gwen gazing at him, holding a plate of food in her hands. The scent of roasted chicken filled the air, along with the warm, comforting aroma of fresh baked bread... delicious smells that made him feel almost faint with hunger as his stomach let out an audible growl.

"I-I thought you might be hungry," she said, seeming shy and uncertain. "I'm sure you haven't had a chance to leave the stables, and I was making supper for myself and..."

"It was kind of you to think of me. Yes, I'm starving, but..." he paused, giving the food a wistful look. "I don't want to be caught sitting down to eat while I should be working. Arthur might think..."

"Oh,  _hang_ Arthur," she said impatiently, rolling her eyes at him with an appealing smile. "You've been here slaving away since this morning. Have you had a break at all? I bet you haven't even eaten since breakfast."

When he didn't immediately respond, she gave him a knowing look.

"If it would make you feel better, I'll watch at the door and warn you if anyone is coming."

"Thank you, I..." He reached for the plate, then hesitated as he looked down at his filthy hands, stopping to wash them in a pail of fresh water. The moment Gwen had appeared, he'd somehow forgotten that he was covered from head to toe in horse dung.  _Good lord, I probably smell atrocious._

He felt a rush of embarrassment, followed by a great deal of shame as he realized what a mess he'd made of the clothing she'd spent hours working on the night before. If she was bothered, however, she gave no sign of it, handing him the plate with a gentle smile before she went to keep an eye out as promised.

The food was  _delicious_. He ate ravenously, feeling better than he had in hours by the time he'd finished. With another word of thanks, he walked over to the door to hand her the empty plate.

Forgetting all about how dirty he was, he lingered there, mesmerized all over again by her lovely face. She looked up at him, all big, soft eyes and the faintest trace of a smile dancing around the corners of her mouth.

He should speak... at least try to properly express his gratitude for all her kindness if he couldn't manage anything else. But being so close to her, words became difficult.

She looked as tired as he felt, he noticed with another touch of guilt. He could see the fatigue around her eyes, the slight sag of her shoulders. With that, he had a sudden, almost overpowering urge to wrap his arms around her and let her rest her head against his chest.

 _No_. Even if he were bold enough to try... even if she allowed him to do such a thing, it wouldn't change the fact that he was covered in filth.

"Gwen, you must be tired. You've been losing too much sleep lately for my sake. Please, go home and get some rest."

For a moment, it looked as if she wanted to protest, perhaps to reassure him she was fine or offer something else to ease his mind. But instead, she just nodded in agreement. And then filth and all, she reached out and laid a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Goodnight, Lancelot," she said softly.

"Sleep well, my lady."

He thought of her throughout the evening, at least up until the point where he was so far beyond exhausted he couldn't think at all. After that, he continued working with a grim determination that somehow kept him going until the job was completed.

"How'd it go?" Merlin asked him brightly as he practically staggered into the chamber. 

All he could manage in response was a tired grunt.

Somehow managing to make it to the tiny bedchamber, some faint recollection of good manners told him to wash up before bed. Stripping his boots and clothes off with every intention of doing just that, he looked at the pallet on the floor and decided to lay down, just long enough to recover a bit of energy.

He was fast asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.


	10. Longing

#  **Chapter 10: Longing**

* * *

"Lancelot, time to wake up."

"Mmmm...?" he mumbled sleepily.

" _Lancelot!_ "

He opened his eyes with a reluctant sigh. It felt as if he'd just fallen asleep, yet bright sunlight was pouring through the window. Merlin was sitting on the bed, staring down at him with an anxious expression.

"What time is it?"

"Past midmorning already. I tried to wake you over an hour ago and you didn't even  _move_. You must have been really tired."

Practically jumping to his feet, he realized a second too late that he was naked beneath the blanket, hastily picking it up and wrapping it around his waist. "Did Arthur summon me? Am I in trouble?"

"Don't worry, I covered for you. He's not expecting you until noon, though he  _did_ give me a list of demands to pass along."

"Thank you, Merlin."

It was then that he noticed the filthy bedding, remembering how he'd stripped off his manure covered clothing and passed out on the floor. He gestured helplessly at the pallet. "I'm sorry..."

"Hey, don't worry about it," Merlin said with a smile. "You know, it was  _your_ turn for the bed last night. Seeing how dirty you are though, I'm glad you slept where you did."

Lancelot caught a whiff of himself and wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I should wash up."

"And I should be seeing to Arthur. He's being even more of a prat than usual this morning if that's possible. There's a bath waiting for you in the outer chamber and I've had your boots and clothes cleaned. Oh, and Gaius left breakfast in the pot before he went out this morning. Porridge again, but at least it's hot."

Alone in the silent chamber, Lancelot piled the dirty bedding in the corner, then swept the floor where he'd lain. Naked, he walked down the steps and into the outer chamber, anticipating the pleasure of another hot bath. He felt better now that he was fully awake, but his muscles were still a little sore from the endless shoveling the day before.

Resisting the urge to linger in the steaming water, he scrubbed himself until he was certain not a trace of manure remained. It might be a wasted effort if Arthur had assigned him another day of work in the stables, but for the time being at least, he felt fresh and clean as he rose out of the water, toweled himself off, then dressed in his freshly laundered clothing.

Sitting down at the table, he helped himself to a bowl of porridge, reaching for Arthur's list.

_Lancelot,_

_The stables are slightly less dirty this morning. Good. You'll be seeing them again soon enough, but here are a few other duties for you in the meantime:_

_Sweep the guardhouse._

_Polish the boots that have been left out for you in the armory... and the armor too, while you're at it._

_You'll find a pile of swords behind the stables. Sharpen them._

_If you don't find a way to muck any of that up, find me at the training grounds when you're finished for further instruction._

_Arthur_

* * *

After he finished the quick job of sweeping the guardhouse, Lancelot spent a couple hours in the armory, polishing twenty pairs of boots and half as many sets of armor. It was tedious work, but much of the time passed easily as he imagined himself as a Knight of Camelot. Dreamily, he pictured outfitting himself in a full set of plate, then riding off to battle with a proud red cape billowing behind him.

He soon moved on to sharpening swords, seating himself in the shade of a crafter's shop and working steadily with blade and whetstone. The practiced motions and gentle scrape of stone on steel soothed him as they always did, and he found that most of his attention was focused on enjoying the quiet hum of city life.

Much of his training had involved learning to have a heightened awareness of his surroundings, an ability that served him well as he felt rather than saw a shadow approach from around the corner. Though he gave no outward acknowledgment of the new presence, he was fully prepared when an object was tossed at his head, catching it effortlessly.

"Not bad."

"Would you like me to sweep the guardhouse again, sire?" he questioned with a small bow, trying to sound as humble as possible.

"It certainly needs sweeping," Arthur replied, picking up a second broom and breaking off the bristles. "But first, I want you to kill me."

"Sire?"

"Come on. Don't pretend you don't want to. Hell, if I were you, I'd want to."

Lancelot loosened the handle of his broom, suddenly understanding that the duties he'd been commanded to perform had a purpose after all. Arthur had been testing him... not to see how well he cleaned stables or how effectively he could polish a pair of boots. He'd been trying to make him angry and resentful, to put him in a fighting mood.

It was probably an effective strategy for a new recruit, a good way to cut through any arrogance or sense of entitlement and get to the heart of who he was as a fighter. Of course, it hadn't really worked on Lancelot, who was grateful to have even the slightest chance at a knighthood. He'd never begrudge Arthur any service that might be asked of him in the process.

 _And now, my first chance to prove myself in combat,_  he realized with a surge of excitement.

But facing his opponent, he was suddenly hesitant to strike. This was the  _Prince of Camelot_ , the future ruler of the kingdom. It was difficult to treat him like any other sparring partner. Maybe he should…? No. Orders were orders, and besides, how else could he hope to show this man what he could do?

"Come on."

Arthur easily deflected the first blow, yet he neatly maneuvered to avoid the returning thrusts.  _So far, so good_ , he thought to himself.

"Come on, Lancelot, you're not beating a carpet."

Instinct took over then and he fought in earnest. Lightning quick blows rained down from both opponents, neither managing to land a hit. The clatter of wood slamming against wood rang through the street as each man thrusted, parried, and did his best to find an opening to no avail.

 _He's the best fighter I've ever seen,_ Lancelot told himself, even as he realized with a touch of amazement that he was holding his own quite well against such incredible skill.

There wasn't much room for thought beyond that, as he was knocked off balance and shoved backward into a cart of hay. It could have easily ended there with Arthur poised above him, ready to take advantage of his vulnerable position to score a direct hit, but Lancelot twisted to the side and found his feet again.

With a fresh surge of confidence, he went on the offensive, meeting the other man with a series of bold attacks. He was just beginning to think he might actually win the fight when Arthur managed to find a small opening; the broom handle slammed into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. 

Stunned, he gasped for air, resisting the urge to double over.

"Congratulations, Lancelot," Arthur said, tossing him the other stick and looking almost impressed. "You just made basic training."

A thrill shot through him, but there was no time to savor the moment as the clanging of bells rang through the city. Suddenly, guards and townsfolk alike were running past in a panic. The sound of screaming could be heard in the distance as Arthur glanced back at him with an expression of alarm, then ran off in the direction of the commotion.

_An invasion?_

He set his feet in motion and broke into a run, following the hysterical crowd. As he made his way through the main square and toward the city gates, he began to see dozens of refugees that must have come from some outlying village. They were clearly terrified, and while many were unharmed, others were bleeding from a variety of injuries.

"Just came from out of nowhere. Didn't know what was happening! Locked myself in the cellar and..." an elderly woman cried as Lancelot passed, her voice shaking.

"My brother and two uncles... tried to fight... dead. All dead!" another man sobbed as a pair of townsfolk attempted to bandage a large, nasty looking gash on his arm.

For Lancelot, it was a chilling reminder of the day his own village had been attacked by raiders. He was suddenly besieged by flashbacks, remembering all the innocent people who'd been brutally cut down in front of his eyes. Family, friends, everyone he'd loved... butchered like animals. And himself a young child, unable to do a thing about it.

 _Never again_ , he vowed silently. 

"What happened to these people?" he demanded when he found Merlin and Gaius tending to an injured woman just inside the city gates.

"Their village was attacked by a winged monster," Gaius replied in a somber voice.

 _The monster!_ Lancelot exchanged a grim look with Merlin, ashamed that he'd given the creature so little thought over the previous few days. With a feeling of dread, he remembered his own inability to so much as wound the creature, even when he'd delivered a direct hit.

While he'd been so distracted by his dreams of knighthood, this menace had been roaming free, putting hundreds of innocent lives in peril. And now, these poor people...

He wasn't sure what he could've done to prevent this from happening, but he should have tried  _something_. Perhaps he should've hunted the creature himself, sacrificing his own life if necessary. A true knight's first thought was for the safety of the people he was sworn to protect, not of his own ambitions.

Silently, he vowed to offer whatever assistance he could to anyone who would accept it. It didn't matter that he was not yet a knight. His loyalty already lay with Camelot, and it was his responsibility to do everything in his power to protect the kingdom and its people.

"What can I do to help?" he asked Gaius.

* * *

Gwen made her way through the courtyard, feeling a rush of sympathy for the battered, terrified refugees. Attacked by some sort of winged beast, the scouts had reported. It must have been the same one Lancelot had faced when he'd been protecting Merlin. After all, how many bloodthirsty monsters could be wandering around the kingdom at any given time?

As she witnessed the devastation around her, she was amazed Lancelot had managed to escape with only a minor injury. How was that possible? The creature must be quite dangerous if it could ravage an entire village this way. Gwen had believed Merlin to be unintentionally exaggerating, his fear and confusion causing him to remember it as larger and more menacing than perhaps was accurate.

Obviously not. Suddenly, she began to understand how brave Lancelot must have been to face such a beast with nothing but a sword and his own strength, especially to defend a stranger he'd never even met.

She spotted him in the distance just then, working beside Gaius and Merlin as they tended to a small group of injured villagers. As she approached, she noticed a difference between his actions and those of the other two. Gaius and Merlin both worked quickly, with grace and skill. The physician had a lifetime of practice as a healer, of course, and Merlin seemed to have a natural talent for these things.

In contrast, Lancelot was clearly out of his element. His motions were clumsy and uncertain as he attempted to wrap a bandage around an elderly woman's arm, shaking his head and adjusting it several times before he seemed satisfied. Gwen saw his lips moving as he spoke to the refugee, receiving a wan smile iin response as she reached out with her uninjured arm and patted his cheek.

 _Probably apologizing far beyond what's necessary,_ she thought to herself, then smiled inwardly as she came into hearing distance and realized she'd been right.

"Gaius? Morgana sent me to offer whatever assistance I could. What can I do to help?"

The old man greeted her with a strained smile. "There are many who need tending, as you can see. Can you fetch some water? Supplies, too. We're running low. Go to my chamber and find some fresh bandages, would you? Oh, and honey. I need more honey. Sheets and blankets... what else?"

Gwen did her best to follow the somewhat scattered requests, hoping she wouldn't forget anything.

"And take this one with you to help carry it all. Lancelot?"

He was tending to a young boy with a nasty gash on his forehead, murmuring soothing words as he dabbed ineffectually at the wound with a wet cloth. Listening closely as Gaius repeated the list of supplies, he rose and handed Merlin the cloth with an expression that was full of both guilt and relief.

* * *

 _Poor Lancelot_ , Gwen thought to herself as the pair walked silently toward the palace a few minutes later. His somber, helpless glances at the refugees they passed along the way had not escaped her notice.  _He's a fighter, not a healer._

Title or not, he was a knight at heart. His skills lay in doing everything he could to prevent something like this from happening in the first place, not cleaning up the damage after the fact.

Once they'd reached Gaius's chambers, Lancelot gathered sheets and bandages, packing them into a large basket. When he moved on to the herbs and potions, however, Gwen had to place several vials back on the shelves and exchange them for the correct ones. She tried to do it when she thought he wouldn't notice, but he saw what she was doing out of the corner of his eye and frowned.

"I'm not very good at this," he said with a sigh. "I know very little about healing or medicine, or... I'm sorry."

"You're doing everything you can to help. No one could expect more."

Lancelot didn't have a home or family here, hadn't taken vows nor anything else that would leave a person feeling obligated to serve the kingdom. Yet here he was, tending to the wounded while most of Camelot's army were idling in the palace, expecting that others would clean up the mess. She'd seen a scattering of red cloaks helping the refugees, but those had been few and far between.

No, he had nothing to be sorry about. Why did he look so guilty?

He spoke then, as if somehow sensing her thoughts. "The creature... I couldn't kill it. It didn't even take a wound. I struck it hard. I  _know_ I did."

Gwen moved closer and placed a hand on his arm. The muscles beneath her fingers were firm and strong; it was easy to imagine that the full force of that arm behind a sharp sword could strike a powerful blow. She found it as bewildering as he did that the creature had escaped unharmed.

Unable to provide a rational explanation, she offered the only thing she could think of. "The king will find a solution, I'm sure of it. After all, he has an army at his disposal, not to mention the most learned minds in the kingdom. Try not to worry, Lancelot."

The tension around his mouth softened and he smiled down at her. "You're right. It's a bit arrogant of me to behave as if I'm the only one who can find a solution, isn't it? Who am I compared to...?"

"That's not what I meant. I know it's in your nature to be humble and I admire you for it, but give yourself a little credit. Whatever you did, you obviously saved Merlin's life. And when you become a knight, I'm sure none will serve more loyally than you. You're valuable to Camelot, whether Camelot knows it yet or not."

He was visibly moved by her words, gazing down at her with an expression full of hope, gratitude... and a sort of naked longing she didn't quite understand. Was it for Camelot and all his dreams of knighthood? Was it for her? Or perhaps both?

She'd almost forgotten her hand was still resting on his arm until he covered it with his own. His was large and rough, covered in calluses, yet his touch was warm and surprisingly gentle. For an endless moment, nothing in the world existed beyond the texture of his skin and the intensity in his eyes, smoldering with some unknown heat. Gwen stared up into them helplessly, unable to look away.

Her legs began to tremble; she felt a little breathless as he took a step closer. His gaze dropped to her mouth, sending a curiously pleasant shiver down her spine.

 _He's going to kiss me,_ she suddenly realized.

It was intoxicating... and _frightening_. It had all happened so quickly, leaving her feeling both timid and overwhelmed. She wasn't ready for this. It was too much, too soon. No, she needed time to make sense of it all before it went any further.

Abruptly, she dropped her gaze and took a quick step backward. "We need to get these supplies down to Gaius."

Nodding in agreement, Lancelot cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly. She risked a look at his face, fearing he might be frustrated or angry with her for withdrawing the way she had... or worse, that he might have taken it as a hurtful rejection.

When she met his eyes, however, the heat was gone, replaced by the same soft admiration that had been there since the moment they'd met. Giving her a placid smile, he turned to retrieve the supplies, not seeming to expect any sort of apology or explanation.

He asked her a flurry of questions as they made their way back through the city, inquiring about the healing powers of rosemary, then wondering why Gaius had wanted so much honey. Knowing he was trying to put her at ease, she appreciated his efforts. It was amazing that he had the power to make her feel so unsettled in one moment, then completely comfortable the next.

From that point until late into the evening, they worked to assist the refugees. The number of wounded seemed endless, but somehow, the final villager was bandaged and sheltered at long last. Merlin and Gaius packed up the remaining supplies and retired to their chamber, leaving Lancelot to see Gwen safely home.

When they reached her doorstep, she gave him a sleepy smile as she raised a hand to stifle a yawn.

"Goodnight, Lancelot."

Before she realized what was happening, he was pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to the back of her hand, caressing it with his thumb before he finally released it. Feeling a pleasant shiver in the pit of her stomach, she knew she'd be dreaming of those warm lips on her skin as she drifted off to sleep.  _Why didn't I let him kiss me earlier?_  Suddenly, she couldn't quite remember.

"Goodnight... my lady."

It was only when the bolt was slid firmly into place that she heard the sound of his retreating footsteps.


	11. The Final Test

#  **Chapter 11: The Final Test**

* * *

Just before sunrise the following morning, Lancelot rose and dressed as quietly as he could manage. Merlin was sleeping peacefully, sprawled out with one arm hanging off the bed. Giving his friend an affectionate smile, he slipped silently from the room.

Gaius was fast asleep at the table, his head resting on an old book he must've been studying late into the night. Doing his best not to disturb him, Lancelot searched the chamber, trying to find parchment and something to write with.

Not noticing the small vial that was sitting precariously close to the edge of the shelf he'd been investigating, he winced as it toppled over and hit the floor with a loud shatter.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Scolding himself for his clumsiness, he shot Gaius a guilty look. "Nothing. I'm truly sorry. I was looking for parchment and accidentally knocked over..." He gestured helplessly at the shattered glass on the floor. "I hope it wasn't valuable."

"Don't worry, Lancelot. Just a bit of clove oil. I have plenty more where that came from." The elderly man rose to his feet and stretched, grumbling half audible complaints about his aching back and being far too old to be sleeping on tables. 

"Did you find what you were looking for?" he asked after a moment, giving Lancelot a quizzical look.

"No... well, I suppose I don't need it now. Would you mind telling Merlin I went out for a walk and that I'll see him later today? I didn't want him to worry."

* * *

For the first time since his arrival, Lancelot ventured beyond the outer walls. Finding an ideal spot on a nearby rise, he sat down with a sigh of contentment, watching as the first rays of sunlight bathed the towering spires of Camelot in gentle hues of pink and gold. It was a breathtaking sight, one that quieted his overactive mind and left him with a renewed certainty that his destiny lay within that beautiful city. 

There'd been moments when he'd worried that his dream might be nothing more than a trick of the imagination, an unrealistic fantasy that would never come true. After all, how could the  _real_ Camelot possibly measure up to all of the grand expectations he'd built up in his mind over the years?

But no... he'd come to discover that the opposite was true. Camelot far surpassed the city he'd dreamed of, and in ways he would've never expected. Just a few days within those walls and he'd been changed forever, thanks to the people he'd been privileged enough to meet.

Merlin... kind and understanding, willing to do so much for him while asking nothing in return.

Arthur... clearly a skillful warrior, someone to be respected in many other ways as well. What an honor it would be to serve under a man like him, to help him shape this kingdom into a land where justice and the greater good would always prevail.

And Gwen... beautiful, amazing, compassionate Gwen. In all his wildest dreams, he could have never imagined he'd meet someone like her.

He smiled to himself, remembering her hasty withdrawal the day before. She was such an innocent... he'd been able to see that the first time he'd ever looked in her eyes. Not that he was all that experienced himself, of course, but he knew enough to understand that their attraction was far from ordinary.

There was something powerful between them already. Deep, real, something with the potential to be... he didn't even know. Bigger than he could possibly imagine? He was sure Gwen felt it, too, and that it was fear of the unknown that had caused her to pull back with an expression of bewilderment.

Despite his growing hunger, Lancelot didn't mind taking things slow if that was what she needed. It didn't seem to matter that it might be days, months, or even years before the attraction between them went any further. Just feeling the way he did was enough.

One thing he loved about her was that she didn't realize how beautiful she was. That gave her a kind of honesty that couldn't be found in women who were fully aware of their charms, swaying men with their bodies, affected mannerisms, sweet words and coy little smiles. Gwen was different, inspiring admiration without any intention of doing so, which was something he found so much more intriguing.

Did she ever…?

But then his reverie was interrupted by the sound of bells in the distance, and with a great deal of surprise, he looked up at the position of the sun to realize that it was midmorning. Hastily, he made his way back through the city, stopping to listen as he came upon Arthur instructing a group of knights in the square.

"The beast is heading for Camelot. It's fast and agile, but big enough to hit and hit hard. Starting today, your training routines will concentrate on an attack strategy. We don't have much time. Dismissed."

 _He did say I'm in basic training,_ Lancelot reminded himself, desperately wanting to be involved somehow. If Camelot was in danger, that meant Merlin, Gaius, and Gwen would all be in peril, along with countless other innocent people. Knight or not, he couldn't just stand by and do nothing. 

With that thought, he approached Arthur, giving him a respectful bow.

"Yes, Lancelot?"

"Is there anything I can do, sire? It's just... I know that in the event of battle, only a knight may serve."

"That's correct And you are not yet a knight... which is why I'm bringing your test forward. You'll face me in the morning."

He stared after the prince as he walked away, hardly able to believe his good fortune.  _Just like that?_  

Thrilled, he rushed off to tell Merlin.

* * *

Letting out a weary sigh, Gwen shut the door to Morgana's chamber with a great deal of relief. After spending so many hours tending to the refugees the day before, she'd fallen behind on her usual chores. She had no idea how Morgana could've created so much mess in such a short time, but it felt as if she hadn't had a moment to rest since she'd gotten out of bed that morning.

"Gwen!"

She turned around, finding herself face to face with a grinning Merlin.

"Hello," she said with a tired smile. "And why are you so happy?"

Calling him "happy" was an understatement; he was practically vibrating with excitement. Despite her overwhelming desire to go straight home and crawl into bed, she couldn't help her curiosity.

"Lancelot! He faces Arthur in the morning for his final test! Gwen... this is it! He's almost there!"

"Just like that?" she said, suddenly forgetting all about how tired she'd been. "That's wonderful! I was sure Arthur was going to torture him for weeks with his senseless demands."

Merlin snorted. "No, he's already got me for that."

She couldn't help but laugh. While she understood Merlin was his personal servant, Arthur really did go out of his way to make the job as difficult as possible. Admiring her friend for his seemingly limitless patience, she knew she would've left her position long ago if Morgana was even half as demanding as Arthur sseemed to be.

"It's because of the creature, I think. He knows he's going to need all the strength he can get. Lancelot is a great fighter, and while Arthur is definitely an arrogant prat, he's not stupid."

"But how does he know what kind of fighter Lancelot is? They only just met a couple days ago, and Arthur did nothing but knock him down before sending him off to clean the stables until he was ready to drop from exhaustion."

Merlin shook his head, then told her about the duel the two had fought the day before, the details of which Lancelot had related as they'd been falling asleep the previous night. 

Gwen gave him a dubious look. "But he didn't win. Doesn't he have to beat Arthur to become a knight?"

"If that was the case, we wouldn't  _have_ any knights. Arthur would be riding off to face Camelot's enemies all by himself: an army of one."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I'm sure he'd drag me along, but that's not the point. Lancelot doesn't have to win. He only needs to last through one minute of free combat. From what he told me about yesterday, it took longer than that for Arthur to land a hit. He's good, Gwen. Trust me. He's going to make it."

* * *

It was a very different Lancelot who stood quietly on the sidelines of the training grounds the next morning, helmet tucked beneath one steady arm. He'd been in a similar position only two days before, waiting for Arthur as Gwen and Merlin had adjusted his armor and offered various encouragements. But the anxiety that had afflicted him then was nowhere to be found today.

This Lancelot held his head high and stared straight ahead with steely determination, as if nothing in the world could shake his confidence.

This was his moment... not some first introduction or merely the hope of a chance at some point in the future. At last, his time had come, and he had no intention of ruining it with a simple case of nerves. He was beyond that now.

Seeming to sense his mood, Gwen and Merlin had said little as they'd escorted him down to the training grounds. Lancelot was grateful to them both, knowing that even if he failed, neither would withdraw their support or think any less of him. But somehow, that realization made him even more determined to prove himself. Even if his success wasn't necessary in order to win their respect, he desperately wanted to justify their faith in him, to show them the very best he had to offer.

And then his name was called and he was beckoned forward. To one side, he heard Merlin whisper "good luck!" On the other, a small hand reached out and squeezed his gloved one for the merest instant before letting it go.

He stepped out onto the field, and just like that, his moment was upon him.


	12. Sir Lancelot

#  **Chapter 12: Sir Lancelot**

* * *

Lancelot's confidence seemed unshakable as he stood in front of Arthur with his dark head held high. Waiting for further instruction, he took a deep breath and pushed a stray lock of hair out of his eyes, his gaze unwavering and filled with determination.

Merlin had been right. He was ready for this.

"Well, here we are. Your final challenge. Succeed and you join the elite. Fail and your journey ends here. Lancelot, Fifth Son of Lord Eldred of Northumbria. Your time starts now."

The hourglass was set in place and without further ado, the fight was on. 

Steel crashed against steel as the first blows were struck and easily deflected by both combatants. Lancelot was a skilled fighter, Gwen quickly realized, and well matched to his opponent. Not only were his maneuvers highly effective, but he moved with grace and certainty at every turn. Without question, there was an instinct to his movements that went well beyond his long years of training.

No, this wasn't a boy who'd come to Camelot with fanciful dreams and a few learned techniques. This man was a born warrior.

He swung hard, scoring the first hit as his sword smashed into Arthur's helmet with a deafening crash. If he'd struck an average opponent with that kind of force, it was almost certain that the fight would've ended right there. But of course, Arthur was no ordinary man, having been trained practically since birth to endure brutal blows.

Only a few seconds later, he tried the maneuver again to no avail. Arthur anticipated his intention, ducking swiftly to avoid impact. Lancelot's sword swung wide, slicing through empty air.

Gwen gasped, remembering her father once telling her that there was a great deal of vulnerability in attempting to land a blow that didn't connect. The few seconds it took a man to regain his balance could easily mean defeat.

But no... Lancelot recovered quickly enough to deflect the next swing, though it was impossible to say whether he'd done so on his own, or if Arthur had hesitated ever so briefly to allow for it. Either way, the fight continued as the attacks increased in both speed and ferocity.

He was largely on the offensive now, meeting Arthur with a quick succession of brutal thrusts. The prince swung back with equal force, aiming at any vulnerability he could find, but Lancelot twisted gracefully, hindering his blade at every turn.

Gwen glanced at the hourglass, noting with breathless excitement that it was nearly empty.

_Almost there, Lancelot. You can..._

It was at the very last second that he faltered, leaving himself open for no more than the blink of an eye. Taking immediate advantage of the opportunity, Arthur struck him hard, slamming him in the face with the back of a gloved fist. With a grunt of surprise, he fell heavily to the ground and lay still.

_No... oh, Lancelot, you were so close!_

Merlin had explained that an opponent was considered defeated when he was rendered defenseless. That was definitely true for Lancelot... he looked  _unconscious_. Worried he might be seriously injured, Gwen had to resist the urge to rush to his side, even as she silently argued on his behalf.

No, this couldn't be it. Arthur would be a fool to eliminate him over one tiny slip, no matter what the rules might've been. He was a far better fighter than most of the seasoned knights she'd seen training here over the years, and he'd developed those skills completely on his own. Imagine what he might be capable of if given the advantages…

"Shame."

Her heart sank as Arthur approached the prone body, bending down to strip away his colors. It was over.

No, this wasn't right. He...

But before she could finish the thought, the prince was flat on his back with the point of a sword hovering over him, staring up at Lancelot in shock. The movement had been swift and unanticipated, a blur of motion that would've been deadly in any other situation.

"Do you submit, sire?" Lancelot said with that quiet determination still burning in his eyes.

Gwen held her breath as three guards rushed forward to grab him, holding him fast as Arthur pushed himself to his feet.

"On your knees!"

She'd never seen Arthur so furious, practically trembling with rage as he pressed his blade to Lancelot's chest. Had the latter unknowingly committed some violation he'd now have to pay for with imprisonment, or worse? A single word from the prince and he could be executed on the spot. There'd be no one to prevent it.

But deep down, she found it hard to believe there was anything to fear. Arthur might be exceedingly arrogant, but she'd never known cruelty or injustice to be part of his nature. Angry or not, he'd never kill an unarmed man in cold blood. She was certain of that.

For a seemingly endless time, he glared down at Lancelot without speaking. But just when she was ready to scream to break the tension, his features suddenly relaxed, followed by a soft chuckle.

"Lancelot has passed his test. Release him."

* * *

King Uther lifted his sword and tapped him gently, first on one shoulder and then the other. "Arise, Sir Lancelot," he said in a regal voice. "Knight of Camelot."

As Lancelot rose to his feet, he glanced behind the king and saw Merlin standing with Arthur, nodding and clapping exuberantly. On the other side, Gwen was in the company of a dark haired woman who he assumed must be the Lady Morgana. Her eyes were shining, obviously enjoying his triumph in a quieter way.

He tried to give the appearance of being respectful and dignified, fighting the overwhelming urge to grin like a simpleminded fool. The temptation to jump up and down like an excited child crossed his mind, as did a sudden impulse to take Gwen in his arms and kiss her right then and there in front of the king and everyone else.

Good sense and even better manners prevailed, however; he maintained his composure as he returned his attention to King Uther.

"You do us a great honor, Sir Lancelot. The knighthood is the very foundation of Camelot."

"The honor is all mine, sire," he replied sincerely.

"Your father would be very proud."

He was confused at first, until he realized Uther was referring to the unknown Lord of Northumbria, not the simple farmer who'd been his real father.

"Yes, sire," he responded, beginning to feel ill at ease. It wasn't a lie. Not exactly.

"I haven't seen Lord Eldred for many years." Uther's tone was mild and friendly, but his gaze was penetrating. "Longer than I'd imagined, it seems. Last time I saw him, he only had four sons."

Resisting the urge to panic, Lancelot searched his mind frantically for the proper response. "Well," he said with a nervous laugh, "here I am."

The king seemed to soften at that, giving him a warm smile. "Indeed you are. And I've kept you too long already. Enjoy the celebrations."

He bowed respectfully. "Sire."

There was no time to dwell on the uncomfortable exchange, however, as his fellow knights crowded around him to offer their congratulations. Arthur threw a friendly arm around his shoulders, guiding him from the room as the others followed close behind.

Lancelot thought they'd be heading to the hall where the feast was to be held, but that was not the case. First was a stop at the armory, where he was measured for his cloak and armor as flagons of ale were passed around.

"Tradition," Arthur said.

The main celebration would be enjoyed by the entire court, of course, but the first toast was always shared strictly among the knights. Each in turn offered his name and a few words of welcome for the newcomer, cups clinked together and they all drank deeply of the finest brew Lancelot had ever tasted. Yes, he could easily get used to this.

Up until the moment they entered the hall, he'd been too overwhelmed by the events of the day to think about food. As they joined the feast, however, his senses were suddenly assaulted by the smell of roasted meat, fresh baked bread, and countless other appetizing odors, leaving him so famished that he almost felt faint.

There was so much  _food_. Dozens of platters covered the long tables, piled high with every kind of dish he could possibly imagine, along with many more he didn't even recognize.

He ate ravenously, devouring herb crusted chicken, stuffed pheasant, duck dripping with honey glaze, so tender it practically melted in his mouth. Following that, he sampled vegetables swimming in rich sauces and creams, finished off a platter of fresh fruit, then accepted a thick slice of roasted boar. When the meat was gone, he soaked up its succulent juices with a chunk of dense black bread, finally leaning back in his chair and patting his stomach with a satisfied grunt.

Meanwhile, the ale flowed freely, a rich and heady brew unlike any he'd ever tasted. After downing three or four cups with his meal, he tried not to overindulge, soon discovering he had little choice in the matter. Every time he tried to set his cup down, he saw another person raising a toast in his direction. It would've been impolite not to respond in kind.

All of this, in his honor. It was difficult to imagine, remembering all those years of solitary training where no one had seemed to care one way or another if he achieved his goal. He could've never imagined a reaction like this, people he didn't even know looking on him with admiration in their eyes as they nodded and smiled in his direction.

Arthur himself came to sit beside him, and it was with some amazement he realized the conversation that ensued was not one of a royal speaking to a commoner, but that of equals, perhaps even friends.

"That was some trick you pulled today. I can't remember the last time anyone was able to take me by surprise, at least not on the field. Well done."

Ordinarily, Lancelot would've bowed his head and offered a suitably humble response. But tonight he was drunk on a heady mixture of triumph, pride, satisfaction and a great deal of ale, all of which brought him to the decision that just this once, he wouldn't minimize his accomplishment. After all, why should he? It had been an exceedingly clever move.

"You put me on my backside at our first meeting, sire. I considered it my solemn duty to return the favor."

Arthur snorted. "Yes, well, you were lucky. Don't expect me to make it so easy the next time you face me."

They chatted pleasantly after that, with the prince pointing out various knights and sharing tidbits about each of them. This one was extremely skilled with the crossbow, while that one was known for his prowess at the mace.

Lancelot tried to remember it all, but he couldn't even seem to get the names straight. The slender man with the dark skin and eyes... was that Sir Merek or Sir Leon? And the tall man with the honey colored curls who'd been particularly kind to him... Sir Walter, was it?

"Here's trouble," Arthur said with a touch of amusement.

 _Gwen..._ Lancelot watched her smile at her companion as the room suddenly seemed warmer and a little hazy. It was unclear whether that was the ale affecting him or the power of her presence, but it hardly mattered. He was just happy she was here.

"Tell me, do you think her... beautiful?"

He knew a moment of panic before he realized Arthur was staring at the woman in the burgundy dress. Yes, the Lady Morgana was indeed quite attractive, and it was obvious she was well aware of her beauty in the way she tossed her head, smirking playfully at a couple of nearby knights who couldn't seem to take their eyes off her.

But it was only the briefest evaluation on Lancelot's part. His eyes had already shifted back to Gwen, admiring her sweet smile and the gentle curve of her neck.

"Yes, sire," he said softly. "I do."


	13. Still Not a Lady

#  **Chapter 13: Still Not a Lady**

* * *

Lancelot's celebration was in full swing as Gwen went to stand beside Merlin, the large hall filled with the sounds of laughter and animated conversation. Ale flowed freely in the aftermath of the sumptuous feast, and the guest of honor, seated next to Arthur with his tankard clutched tightly in one hand, was beaming with happiness.

She'd been so elated as she'd watched him kneel before Uther that afternoon, his handsome face full of hope and quiet satisfaction. Warm sunlight had been pouring through the windows as he'd received his long-awaited knighthood, seeming to bless him with its soft golden glow.

Unfortunately that blissful moment hadn't lasted, immediately followed by an unpleasant realization that had brought her crashing back down to earth.

"Who is this man?" Morgana had asked, her blue eyes bright with curiosity. "He seems to have come out of nowhere."

Gwen had instantly recognized the speculative look in her eyes, feeling a sharp stab of jealousy in the pit of her stomach that had taken her breath away.

"I know," she'd said out loud, doing her best to sound unperturbed. "It's been a bit of a surprise… to all of us."

She was still trying to convince herself there was nothing to worry about, even as she noticed with a great deal of discomfort that the other woman's gaze was still following him around the room. After all, Morgana admired many men from a distance, never acting on the majority of her attractions.

But what if she  _did_ in this case? She was stunningly beautiful, naturally seductive, and completely confident around men. If she took it upon herself to pursue Lancelot, how could he resist her? Gwen had never seen a man who was immune to Morgana's charms... not even Arthur, though he loved to pretend otherwise.

Then she had an even more disturbing realization. As a sworn knight and the son of a noble house, Lancelot would be  _expected_ to take an interest in others of his rank. If not Lady Morgana herself, then courtiers or the daughters of high lords... other members of the nobility, not humble serving girls like herself.

But in the end, wasn't it a bit presumptuous of her to concern herself over the future? She knew Lancelot had been attracted to her, but that didn't mean he'd been serious about his feelings or had any wish to pursue them further than they'd already gone. A few admiring looks and sweet words didn't necessarily mean anything, did they? Especially coming from a man who was obviously chivalrous by nature.

Stubbornly, she decided to suppress any reminder that might prove otherwise. She wouldn't think about the way he'd looked at her as if she were the only person in the room, or remember the sensation of his warm lips caressing her skin as he'd kissed her hand. And most of all, she'd forget the hungry look in his eyes that had caused her to feel so flustered and quickly withdraw.

She'd been  _right_ to pull back from what must've only been an impulse of the moment on his part. After all, how could it have been anything more than that? They'd only met a few days before, and while he might have felt drawn to her out of gratitude or perhaps loneliness, that hardly meant his feelings had been anything she should've taken seriously.

Besides, everything was different now. He was surrounded by fellow knights, courtiers, dozens of nobles along with Camelot's most venerated citizens, all looking on him with interest and approval. He wouldn't find himself lacking for friends after tonight... or female attention, for that matter.

Noticing a pretty blonde courtier studying him with open admiration, Gwen's heart sank as the woman whispered something to her equally lovely companion, the pair dissolving in a fit of giggles.

"You know what?" Merlin said, interrupting her dismal thoughts. "I think our Sir Lancelot might have eyes for you, Gwen."

"Don't be silly," she replied with an uncomfortable laugh.

"What? So what if he did? Would that really be so bad?"

Yes, it was bad to be having this conversation at all when the last thing she should be doing was getting her hopes up. She needed to distance herself from her attraction, so it wouldn't hurt to feel herself fading into the background as Lancelot settled into his new position as a Knight of Camelot.

The tiny flutter in her stomach in response to Merlin's words certainly wasn't helping with that.

"He's not really my type," she scoffed, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Oh, well, there's a surprise. Sometimes, Guinevere, I wonder if you'd know what your type was if he was standing right next to you."

"You're probably right."

Yes, what did she know about men? Close to nothing. it had been easy to forget that while swept up in the romance of Lancelot and his noble aspirations, but in the cold light of reality, she was still the shy, bumbling, practically invisible Gwen she'd always been.

"So come on, just for the sake of argument. If you had to choose, Arthur or Lancelot?"

The question took her off guard. How could she respond to that? One was humble, noble, sweet, and incredibly brave, not to mention impossibly handsome. The other was _Arthur_.

"But I don't have to and I never will," she said lightly, glad she sounded so unaffected. It was true... the idea that she'd ever be in that sort of position was absurd.

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Oh, you're no fun, Gwen."

Yes, she  _was_ being a bit of a downer, brooding to herself on what was supposed to be a happy occasion. Tonight was about Lancelot, not herself; determined to put her own worries aside from that moment forward, she focused on Arthur as he rose to his feet and lifted his cup.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in a toast to our new recruit... our new Knight of Camelot. Sir Lancelot!"

Lancelot's face broke into a radiant smile and her heart melted. Yes, this was exactly the way it should be. He'd worked so hard for this and he deserved to be recognized for his efforts. That was all that mattered.

With that thought, she put any further reservations from her mind, then applauded with real enthusiasm.  _Well done, Sir Lancelot_ , she thought warmly.  _Well done indeed._

* * *

The celebrations grew louder and more wild as the night progressed. One by one, the older revelers began to slip from the hall, leaving the younger attendants to carry on without them. The seemingly endless flow of alcohol never slowed as cups were filled, quickly drained, and then filled again.

One unfortunate man was already passed out, completely oblivious to his companions as they roared with laughter, dipping their fingers in a bowl of gravy and drawing crude insults all over his face.

Lancelot was seated with two other knights, trying not to make his discomfort too obvious as they pointed out different serving women and enumerated rather colorfully on their various charms.

"Had her once," the blond knight slurred, nodding at a sweet looking girl with mousy brown hair as she moved across the room. "Seems modest, but she'll yowl like a cat in heat if you stick her just right."

His friend snorted, his eyes passing dismissively over the servant before focusing on the Lady Morgana. She was leaning against a pillar on the other side of the room, occasionally sipping from a glass of wine as she spoke with a small group of courtiers. From time to time, she paused to flash a beguiling smile in their direction.

"I'll take your word for it. Me, I'd prefer to set my sights a little higher."

The first knight followed his gaze. "Ah, we'd all love a night between  _her_ pretty thighs. Too bad the king would have a man's cock cut off if he even thought about touching his precious ward."

"Not sure it wouldn't be worth it..."

The rest of the knight's words were lost as Lancelot quietly slipped away.

Feeling overwhelmed as he weaved unsteadily through the maze of tables and scattered chairs, he managed to find himself a quiet corner that was half hidden behind a pillar. The room seemed overly warm and glaringly bright; it was a relief to close his eyes and rest his forehead against the cold stone of the column for a few minutes.

The evening was catching up with him. For hours now, he'd accepted endless congratulations and conversed with dozens of people. One had barely finished before the next was upon him, and after a while, he'd begun to feel strained by all the attention. Appreciative or not, what he wanted more than anything was a moment alone to collect himself.

Of course, that was easier said than done. He'd lost count after his sixth cup of ale and that had been hours ago. The more he tried to focus his thoughts, the more scattered they became. There was no logic, just a seemingly nonsensical mishmash of emotions flying around in his head.

As ungrateful as it seemed, he couldn't help wishing everyone else would just disappear so he could spend a little time with Gwen. He'd been wanting to seek her out all evening, and although he'd tried on several occasions, politely excusing himself and moving in her direction, he'd always been intercepted by someone else before he could reach her.

He blinked hard as his vision blurred before coming sharply into focus, his eyes scanning the room in a desperate search for her face. Unfortunately, she was nowhere to be seen.

Disappointment washed over him upon the realization that she'd probably already retired for the evening. He hadn't even had a chance to speak to her since before his test, which seemed like ages ago. There was _something_ he wanted to tell her... well, he couldn't quite remember what it was, but it had to be important. Yes, he needed to…

"Congratulations, Sir Lancelot," spoke a soft, sweetly familiar voice behind him.

And then the jumble of thoughts seemed to settle, prompting a sigh of relief as he turned to greet her with a brilliant smile. His new title had been spoken countless times throughout the evening, but somehow, hearing it from her lips finally made it real.

"My lady," he said, sweeping a grand, if somewhat clumsy bow. Reaching for her hand, he pressed a sloppy kiss against her curled fingers.

After a few heartbeats where the world ceased to exist beyond her beautiful eyes gazing into his, she shook her head, casting a quick, self-conscious glance around the room.

"I'm not a lady," she said quietly. It was the same thing she'd told him during their first meeting, but she didn't sound flustered and playful as she had then. No, she seemed almost… sad.

It was impossible to understand why in his currently intoxicated state, but he hated the thought of her being distressed no matter what the reason might be. Seeking to reassure her, he lifted her hand to his lips again, kissing it even more tenderly than he had before.

"You'll always be a lady to me."

She leaned a little closer even as her eyes filled with worry, anxiously scanning the room again.

_Why? What are you afraid of?_

He'd just opened his mouth to ask when the Lady Morgana approached.

"There you are, Gwen!" she said in a light, teasing voice. "Keeping the guest of honor all to yourself over here in this dark corner? Trying to take advantage of our poor Sir Lancelot in his drunken state? Not that I'd blame you, of course..." she trailed off, her eyes drifting ever so slowly down the length of Lancelot's body before returning to his face. He shifted uncomfortably.

"My lady, I-I didn't... I wasn't..." Gwen stammered out.

Morgana laughed. "I'm only teasing. You look so lovely when you blush and stutter, you know. It's hard to resist, especially when you make it so easy."

On one hand, Lancelot agreed with Morgana. Gwen  _was_ lovely in that particular moment, all pink cheeks and wide, bewildered eyes. But he hated the fact that it was caused by her obvious discomfort.

"Will you allow me to refill your glass, my lady?" he offered with a smile, nodding at the empty goblet in Morgana's hand. It was the best option he could think of to provide a distraction and hopefully save Gwen from any further embarrassment.

Morgana flashed him a brilliant smile and tucked her arm through his. Too late, he realized his mistake.

"How very chivalrous of you, Sir Lancelot. You seem a little unsteady on your feet though. Allow me to escort you so you do not lose your way."

There was no way of avoiding it without causing a great deal of offense. Helplessly, he glanced back over his shoulder as Morgana guided him across the room, making some flirtatious comment about his armor or tabard or something. He didn't know, nor did he care.

When his eyes fell upon the corner they'd just left, Gwen was nowhere to be seen.


	14. Seduction

#  **Chapter 14: Seduction**

* * *

"Have you seen Gwen?" Lancelot slurred as Merlin joined him at the table.

Since he'd offered to refill her goblet, Morgana had refused to let him out of her sight until that moment. First, she'd taken him around the room to introduce him to some of her favorite knights. He'd been too polite to mention that he'd already been acquainted with them earlier in the evening.

Then she'd invented a clever game. She'd point out various guests, laughingly demanding that Lancelot tell her their names. If he was correct, she had to take a drink. If not, he did. Of course, he'd gotten almost all of them wrong.

"I saw her a little while ago," Merlin replied, giving him a knowing look. "She said she was going home."

"Was she... did she...?" he trailed off, struggling to keep his thoughts straight. "Wanted to wish her good night, at least. Didn't want to..." His head seemed unbearably heavy and so he rested it on the table, peering up at Merlin through one bleary eye.

"What are you so worried about? She was tired, that's all. You'll see her tomorrow."

"Tired..." Lancelot mumbled, feeling warm and content as he closed his eyes.  _Yes, I'm very tired. Sleep..._

Merlin laughed, slurring a little himself as he spoke. "I do believe you passed "drunk" quite some time ago, Sir Lancelot. We should get you off to bed. The celebrations have been dying down for a while anyway."

"Bed," he grunted in agreement, though he made no effort to move. What was the point, when he was perfectly comfortable right where he was sitting?

"Lancelot!" Morgana called brightly.

Good lord, did she have to be so _loud?_ With a reluctant groan, he raised his head, wanting nothing more than to tell her he was finished for the night. No more ale, no more games, no more people...

But no, it wasn't in him to forget his courtesies, even in this shameful state. "My lady."

She smiled almost provocatively. "For your first act of service, I was hoping you'd do me the honor of escorting me to my chamber, Sir Lancelot. There's no telling who might be lurking around the castle at this hour. I'd feel much safer with one of Camelot's finest to protect me."

Merlin laughed uproariously. "Look at him… he's so drunk he can barely walk! Why don't you get one of the guards to go with you?"

Morgana gave him a cutting look. "I want  _Lancelot_ to do it."

"Well, maybe I should come along and…"

"Merlin," Morgana said firmly. She tried to soften her words with a smile, but there was steel in her voice. "Go get some sleep. Lancelot will be fine, I can promise you that. He'll be along soon enough."

"But…"

Lancelot cut Merlin off this time as he rose unsteadily to his feet. "My duty," he mumbled. "Sworn knight... sworn to serve."

Despite her request, it was Morgana who escorted Lancelot through the torch lit halls, not the other way around. He leaned against her for support, unable to hide his embarrassment as he stumbled over his feet several times. Morgana seemed to enjoy the spectacle, however, giggling to herself and then teasing him mercilessly when he tripped over a stair, ending up sprawled helplessly on his back.

"Come on, Sir Lancelot," she said, laughing so hard she could barely get the words out. She helped him to his feet, encouraging him to throw one heavy arm over her shoulders.

It seemed to take forever, but at long last, they were at the door of her chamber. As she opened it and stepped inside, she turned to him with a smile.

"Thank you, Lancelot."

"Goodnight, my lady," he said slowly, executing what was meant to be a respectful bow. Instead, he very nearly lost his footing again, swaying precariously before he managed to right himself. He turned to leave, wondering how on earth he was supposed to find his way back to Merlin.

"Lancelot, wait. My dress... there's no one here to help me unfasten it and I'm afraid I can't do it myself. Would you mind assisting me?"

Even through the haze of alcohol, he knew it was a terrible idea to enter her chambers in the middle of the night. Yet how could he refuse without causing offense? Were he sober, he might have been able to think of something, perhaps. But in this state, he couldn't even begin to imagine a proper refusal.

Reluctantly, he followed her inside.

* * *

Morgana smiled to herself as she stood in front of her dressing table, pulling pins from her hair and dropping them one by one with tiny clinking sounds.

Was he watching? He must be. Men  _always_ watched when she did this, torturing them with the slowness of the task before she rewarded them by letting the ebony curls tumble down her bare back.

Peeking at him in the mirror, she expected to find him devouring her with that hungry stare she knew so well. She'd give him a coy little smile, gazing at him seductively over one shoulder, and then he would come to her then. After that...

Lancelot's eyes didn't meet hers, however. He was staring out the window.

She frowned in confusion.

In truth, that was what had intrigued her enough to bring him to her chambers in the first place. Throughout the evening, she'd noticed he didn't look at her as other men did. His eyes never followed her around the room, hot desire obvious in his stare no matter how respectful he might be in every other way.

No, he'd barely looked at her at all… and even when he had, his gaze had been mild, sometimes even friendly. But there had been nothing resembling attraction, no sign of lust in those deep brown eyes.

Briefly, Morgana had wondered if he was the type who preferred the charms of other men. There were a few among the knights, she knew, one of Camelot's most poorly guarded secrets. But that didn't seem to be it either. For men and women alike, his gaze had been kind and respectful, nothing more.

He _had_ seemed to be staring at Merlin quite a bit as Arthur's servant had walked around the room with Gwen, but always with a great deal of affection, never with any sort of lustful intent in his eyes that she could see.

Maybe he was just more particular than most. Yes, perhaps seducing Sir Lancelot required more effort than a few batted eyelashes and flirtatious comments. A challenge? She liked the idea of that.

"Lancelot?" she whispered seductively. "My dress..."

Turning at the sound of her voice, he nodded, weaving his way unsteadily across the room. She presented him with her back, giving a noticeable shiver when his sword callused fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of her neck.

If he'd been any other man, he would've pressed himself closer at the unspoken invitation. Replacing his fingers with his lips, he would've nibbled at the curve of her neck as his hands slid down to caress her shoulders, then circled around to cup her breasts.

Instead, he just fumbled with the fastening, muttering to himself in frustration.

 _Maybe I need to try a little harder_ , she thought to herself, strangely aroused by his continued resistance. She peeked up at him over one shoulder and spoke in a low, teasing voice that was filled with promise.

"Having trouble? You could just rip it off of me, you know. I wouldn't mind."

There, let him try and resist _that!_

Turning to look at his face, she was taken aback when she realized he was horrified at the suggestion. Dropping his hands, he took a quick step backward, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process.

"My lady, I don't... this isn't... I should go."

It was then that she realized she'd been attempting to seduce a man who clearly didn't want to be seduced for whatever reason, which left her feeling deeply ashamed. A challenge was one thing, but Lancelot wasn't resisting in an effort to make her work for his attentions. He was drunk, obviously exhausted, and  _extremely_ uncomfortable.

"I didn't mean... I'm sorry, I was only saying that you could rip the fastening. There's no sense in you wrestling with it all night. You must be tired. Go ahead, please. Gwen can always repair it tomorrow."

Taking a cautious step closer, he reached out and ripped the fabric as gently as he could manage, immediately backing away when the task was done. A few minutes earlier, she might have let the gown fall to the floor, turning to him with a wicked smile. Instead, she clutched it modestly to her chest.

"Gwen," he repeated the name, his voice surprisingly tender. "I hope it won't be too much trouble for her to repair this, my lady."

 _Is he...?_ Without thinking, she blurted, "Lancelot, you have feelings for  _Gwen!_ That's it, isn't it?"

"Yes, my lady," he said softly, weariness and far too much ale perhaps making him more truthful than he might otherwise have been. "I do."

"That's... that's  _wonderful!_ " She gave him a huge smile.

Gwen was a sweet girl and a dear friend. so much more than merely a servant. Perhaps more than anyone, she deserved someone to love, a man who'd treat her right. If that man were Lancelot, difference in rank or not, Morgana would be entirely supportive. More than that, she'd be  _thrilled_. Ordinarily, she might worry that someone of a higher class would have less than honorable intentions with a serving girl, but she'd already seen enough to believe that Lancelot truly cared for Gwen.

He was able to resist Morgana herself, after all, something no other man had ever managed to do. He must have quite a loyal heart.

She nearly laughed aloud, remembering how she'd teased Gwen when she'd found her in the corner with Lancelot. At the time, she'd have never imagined there was any truth to her mock suspicions.

 _That little sneak,_ she thought to herself affectionately. How long had this been going on? Meanwhile, her demure little maidservant had said nothing, just gone about her duties as usual. Oh yes, Morgana had every intention of putting her on the spot the next time she saw her.

* * *

Pulling Morgana's door closed with a soft click, Lancelot stumbled out into the hall with a sigh of relief. Everything had turned out well enough once she'd realized his affections belonged to another.

Before that though, it had been one of the most awkward situations imaginable. He was only a man, after all, not immune to the charms of a beautiful woman. The comment about ripping her dress had definitely stirred him on a physical level, and even a week ago, he wasn't sure he'd have been able to refuse such an appealing offer.

But that would've been before he'd met Gwen. Everything was different now; he had no wish to be with any other woman except her, no matter what his body had to say about it. Strangely enough, being faced with a temptation he couldn't avoid had made him even more certain of his feelings on the matter.

"Lancelot!" a voice hissed from a nearby stairwell.

"Merlin, why are you lurking out here in the dark? I thought you'd be asleep by now."

"I wanted to be sure you could find your way back. Couldn't have you passing out in the halls, after all. That would be undignified for a man of your station."

Throwing an arm around Merlin's shoulders, Lancelot allowed himself to be guided to their destination. He'd sobered up a bit during his time in Morgana's chambers. Now it was mainly weariness that had him swaying on his feet.

"Your turn for the bed tonight, Sir Lancelot," Merlin said, settling himself on the pallet on the floor with a cheeky grin.

Lancelot laughed as he undressed, choosing to discard all of his clothing except his trousers. He'd had the bed the previous night, as Merlin knew very well. It had become something of a private joke between them.

"No, Merlin, it's  _your_ turn. You might as well take the bed, because  _I'm_ not sleeping there tonight."

"Well, I'm too lazy to get up now, so I'm afraid you have no other choice."

"Oh yeah?" Lancelot shot back. "We'll see about that."

Grabbing the pillow and blanket from the bed, he settled himself on the floor beside Merlin, which brought another round of laughter from both.

"Fair enough. I know when I've been beaten. Just don't try to cuddle up to me during the night, okay? I'm not Gwen, you know."

For a moment, he considered pretending he had no idea what Merlin was talking about. But in truth, he didn't  _want_ to deny it any longer. He cared for Gwen a great deal, and anyone who was close to either of them was bound to notice, just as Morgana had done. Might as well get used to it.

He gave an exaggerated sniff. "No, you're most certainly not. Gwen doesn't stink of ale and boot polish, for one thing."

"You don't exactly smell like spring flowers yourself, Sir Lancelot," Merlin retorted with a grin. "Surprised Gwen let you near enough to be sniffing at her at all, stinking like an old sot the way you do."

"What? I don't... I wasn't  _sniffing_ at her."

Merlin raised an eyebrow at him. "Then how do you know what she smells like?"

"I just... shut up and go to sleep, Merlin."

"Fine, I will. Only because I'll need to be up bright and early to ask you all about it tomorrow."

Lancelot responded by smacking him with a pillow.

Soon enough, the room fell silent. Staring up at the ceiling as the pale light of dawn began to creep through the window, he played over the events of the night one last time in his mind, still hardly able to believe his good fortune.

"Sir Lancelot," he whispered to himself, closing his eyes with a soft sigh of satisfaction. "Knight of Camelot."


	15. Reality

#  **Chapter 15: Reality**

* * *

"Good morning!" Morgana sang out cheerfully. "Did you sleep well?"

Gwen blinked at her in surprise as she eentered the chamber. It was almost unheard of for Morgana to be up at such an early hour. She usually stayed in bed for as long as possible in the mornings, exhausted in the aftermath of nightmares that had kept her tossing and turning for most of the night.

But that certainly didn't look to be the case today – her eyes were bright and alert as she sat at her dressing table brushing her long, dark curls.

"My lady, you're... dressed."

Morgana rolled her eyes, not quite managing to hide a smile. "I can manage  _some_ things on my own, you know. Here, come help me with my hair if you would? I'd like to wear it braided today."

"Of course." 

She hummed to herself as she handed over her brush, gazing dreamily at nothing in particular.

Gwen tried not to make the obvious connection between such a blissful mood and the events of the previous night.  _Did she and Lancelot...?_

No, she wouldn't think about that. She'd  _promised_ herself she would put it from her mind and go about her duties like any other day. What did it matter, after all? There was nothing she could do to change it.

When Lancelot had clung to her hand and spoken so sweetly the night before, she'd begun to believe... believe what, she couldn't be sure. That he truly cared for her? That the new difference in their stations didn't matter? That maybe there was some future in her attraction to him?

Then Morgana had joined them and she'd had to face reality, which had taken form as a handsome knight who'd been eager to refill a glass of wine for a highborn lady. With an ache in her heart, Gwen remembered the way the pair had walked off arm in arm, both so beautiful and regal. That was Lancelot's world now, and there could be no place in it for someone like her.

"You never answered my question," Morgana said, interrupting her dismal thoughts.

"My lady?"

"When you came in, I asked if you slept well."

"Oh, sorry. Yes, well enough."

That was a lie. Afraid she'd burst into tears and shame herself, she'd made her excuses to Merlin and fled the celebrations. She hadn't gone straight home though, choosing instead to wander the streets of Camelot until nearly sunrise. For hours she'd walked, trying to force her heart to come to terms with what her mind already knew. Whatever attraction had existed had been a fleeting thing. She'd have to let go.

Another cause for her distress had been the jealousy she'd felt toward Morgana, whom she loved with all her heart. She'd never begrudged the other woman anything, not her jewels and fine silks, not her privilege or nobility… not even her alluring beauty or the fact that she had dozens of men at her beck and call.

No, she'd never envied Morgana. Not until Lancelot.

This chamber had always been comfortable, safe, and familiar. After the previous evening, however, it was the last place Gwen wanted to be. More than anything, she wished she could just go home and fall into bed... lose herself in sleep and escape all these conflicting emotions she'd never had to deal with before and didn't have the first idea how to manage.

Worried that Morgana might pick up on her melancholy mood and press her further, she gave herself a shake, resolving again to focus on the present.  _I have a job to do,_ she reminded herself firmly.  _That's all that matters._

"I thought I'd start with the laundry this morning, then air out your bedding," she said mildly as she retrieved a basket and began to gather discarded clothing. "Oh, and I noticed you're getting low on that jasmine soap you like so much. I'll head down to the lower town and fetch more for you."

 _Oh lord, what if she asks me to pick up something else for her while I'm there?_ She hadn't even remembered the potion until now.  _Oh please, I don't want to know for sure if they..._ She couldn't finish the thought.

Morgana said nothing, however, only smiled and nodded her thanks.

Picking up the burgundy dress from the previous night, she frowned as she examined the ripped fastening. The other woman was always damaging her gowns in one way or another. Silks were not the most practical clothing for someone so active, though she  _did_ wear them beautifully.

"Oh yes, would you mind fixing that for me when you can find the time? I had a little trouble with the fastening last night. Well," Morgana quickly amended with a small laugh. " _Lancelot_ had trouble. What can you do? Men aren't exactly graceful with these things when they're sober. When they're drunk, they're hopeless."

It was as if someone had driven a fist into Gwen's stomach, knocking the wind out of her. She was overcome by a wave of nausea and for a moment, feared she'd be sick right where she stood.

"My lady, I..."

Morgana came closer, brows knitted in concern. "Are you feeling all right, Gwen? Was it something I said? I was just going to tell you that..."

 _No, I can't stand here and listen to..._  The room suddenly felt stifling, as if the walls were closing in around her.

Unbidden, a vivid image flashed through her mind of Lancelot ripping the fabric of that lovely dress, shaking his head at his own clumsiness as he murmured an apology. And then she saw Morgana turning in his arms, letting out a sigh of pleasure as he dipped his head to press gentle kisses along the column of her graceful white neck…

"I-I'm sorry, my lady. I have to... I need to get some air."

Without another word, she turned and fled the chamber.

* * *

"Lancelot? Wake up."

Grunting in protest, he pulled the pillow over his head. "Merlin, I'm right beside you. Is it really necessary to shout?"

"I'm not shouting, but I will if you don't get up soon. You're supposed to report to the armory to receive your cloak and uniform in just a little while. After that, you'll be meeting with Arthur along with the other knights for a briefing on the monster situation. Come on, you don't want to be late on your first day."

 _The other knights... my cloak and uniform._  Suddenly, all the events of the previous day came rushing back.  _I'm a Knight of Camelot!_ Thrilled beyond imagining, Lancelot tossed the pillow aside and bolted upright on the pallet.

It was an action he immediately regretted. With a loud groan, he clutched his head in his hands, feeling as if a thousand tiny hammers were beating on the inside of his skull. His mouth felt thick and fuzzy, stomach churning with nausea. On any other morning, he might have fallen right back into bed and slept well into the afternoon. This was no ordinary day, however.

Forcing himself to his feet, he resolved to avoid ever becoming so intoxicated again. He felt  _wretched_.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Gaius greeted them cheerfully as they emerged into the outer chamber, holding out two steaming cups. The vapors were giving off a foul, pungent odor; Lancelot felt his stomach give a sickening lurch and took a deep breath, resisting the urge to retch.

"Don't look at it, don't smell it," the physician said. "Just down it in one."

The concoction tasted even worse than it smelled, but he managed to choke it down somehow, unable to hide his disgust as he did so. Strangely enough, he started to feel better almost immediately. The pounding in his head subsided, his stomach settled, and he suddenly felt awake and alert.

"Better?" Gaius said with a knowing smile. "Good. Can't have you nodding off on your first day on the job, Lancelot."

"That's  _Sir_ Lancelot, if you don't mind," Merlin corrected, affecting a haughty tone.

And then from out of nowhere, a pair of guards burst through the door. Without so much as a moment to process what was happening, Lancelot was grabbed by both arms and dragged bodily from the chamber.

" _Stop_!" he heard Merlin cry out in alarm. "What are you doing?"

"King's orders," one of the guards replied brusquely.

Helplessly, Lancelot tried several times to turn back and tell Merlin... tell him  _what?_ Did he mean to offer some kind of reassurance that all would be well? Enough lies had been told already. No… in truth, he just wanted to see a friendly face one last time before facing the consequences of his deception.

For all he knew, he might never see Merlin again.

* * *

"Gwen!" Morgana cried. "Gwen, wait!

She cursed herself for her lack of tact as she rushed out of the chamber behind her maid. No, her _friend_ , who obviously believed Lancelot had shared her bed the previous night… that he'd ripped her dress out of passion, not as an awkward last resort so he could retire to his own chamber immediately after.

It had been easy to assume the attraction between Gwen and Lancelot was mutual. Why wouldn't it be? He was an ideal match for her – quiet, unassuming, handsome, and sweet.

But Morgana hadn't realized how deep those feelings already went until she'd seen the color drain from her face, a terrible sick expression marring her features. It had seemed as if Gwen might be truly ill for a moment... she'd certainly appeared to be on the verge of either fainting or retching.

She'd done neither, however, only rushed from the chamber.

"Gwen!" Morgana called again as she turned a corner, becoming frantic.

And then there she was, standing frozen in the middle of the corridor with that same sick expression on her face. She seemed even more shaken than she'd been just moments before, not even acknowledging Morgana's presence. No, her eyes were fixed on something at the other end of the hall.

"What...?" 

_Lancelot_. Two guards were dragging him roughly down the corridor, obviously headed for the Council Chamber.

Her mouth dropped open in shock.

"What do you think you're doing?" she called in a commanding voice, striding purposefully in their direction. "This is no way to treat a Knight of Camelot! I demand you release him at once!"

The guards stopped, turning to her with a respectful bow. "I'm sorry, my lady," one of them said in an apologetic voice. "I cannot. We're acting on the king's direct orders."

"But what has he done? I can't imagine that... "

"It is not for us to say."

Morgana looked directly at Lancelot then. He was staring beyond her to the spot where Gwen was standing with a devastated expression on his face. Casting a quick look at Morgana, his lips moved as if he desperately wanted to speak but couldn't find the words he needed.

"Tell Gwen," he finally managed to choke out. "Tell her..." He stopped and shook his head, clearly at a loss.

"I'm sorry, but the king is waiting. If you'll excuse us, my lady." The guards gave a deferential nod as they moved past her and continued on their way.

After they'd gone, she rushed back to Gwen, who was still frozen in shock.

"Don't worry," she said in what she hoped was a reassuring tone. "I'm sure there must be some mistake. Let's get you back to my room, then I'll go find out what I can. It'll be all right, I promise you."

"Of course, my lady," Gwen mumbled in a dull voice. Without another word, she allowed Morgana to put an arm around her shoulders and guide her back through the corridors.


	16. Revelations

#  **Chapter 16: Revelations**

* * *

Gwen stared out the window at nothing as she awaited Morgana's return. The other woman had only been gone for a few minutes, but it already seemed like a lifetime.

Knowing  _why_ Lancelot had been arrested wasn't the issue... or was it? The first and most obvious assumption was that Uther had somehow become aware that the Seal of Nobility was a forgery.

_But how? Only Merlin and I knew the truth._

And then an even more disconcerting thought occurred to her – what if Lancelot had been taken to face the king to answer for the night he'd spent here in Morgana's chambers?

Thinking of the tryst still made Gwen feel a little ill, but there were bigger things to worry about. Which crime would merit a more severe punishment – falsely impersonating a member of the nobility or bedding the king's ward?

She'd never known of a person being arrested for either, so it was impossible to say. On one hand, Uther was firm in the belief that common people should never presume to privileges beyond their rank. She'd known of servants to lose their positions for breaches of conduct as minor as forgetting to address a noble guest by their proper title.

Yes, she could imagine how Lancelot's deception would be interpreted in the king's eyes. Uther wouldn't care  _why_ he'd done it, pure intentions or otherwise. All he'd see was a violation of one of his precious codes... a rule put in place as another way to elevate nobles above all others.

But if it was the other offense, there was no reason to expect softness in that direction either, being as Uther was almost fanatically protective of his ward. Would it matter that Morgana had willingly _consented_ to the tryst, that she might have even initiated it herself?

Probably not. In the king's mind, she was still an innocent young girl – any man who dared to share her bed would definitely be taking advantage of her from his perspective. That left little hope for mercy; Uther was a hard man who believed in harsh punishments when his idea of justice had been violated.

Gwen wanted to weep for Lancelot, hating the idea of what he must be facing at that moment. Her own memory of being dragged before the king still haunted her, how terrifying it had been to be thrown in a cold cell and nearly burned at the stake based on mere suspicion. Not even fact...  _suspicion_.

How much worse would it be for him, being as he was guilty in either case? There'd be nothing to save him, no  _real_ culprit to be found at the last minute to prove his innocence before it was too late.

_I can't watch him die. I can't…_

Suddenly, her distress over him spending the night with Morgana seemed silly and selfish. That was  _nothing_ compared to this. Whatever he'd done, he'd acted as a free man, with no pledges of love or loyalty to herself or anyone else. She could hardly blame him for the way it had affected her, particularly since she'd never even admitted to having feelings for him.

No, he'd done nothing wrong. From the moment they'd met, he'd shown her nothing but kindness, gratitude, and courtesy at every turn. He'd made her feel special and appreciated… and in that moment, she knew he hadn't done those things merely out of a sense of obligation.

He'd done them because she was Gwen and he was Lancelot, and somehow, that  _meant_ something. What that  _something_ was, she couldn't be sure. But it meant something.

* * *

At long last, Morgana returned, immediately retrieving a bottle of wine and two goblets from a nearby shelf. Seating herself on the bed, she filled both glasses with the rich, red liquid. 

When she finally spoke, her voice was soft and somber.

"Come here. Let's talk."

With a sinking feeling, Gwen joined her on the bed. "My lady?"

Morgana let out a heavy sigh before she started. "It seems that Lancelot obtained a forged seal and used it to pass himself off as a noble in order to try out for the Knights. You may not be aware of this, but the First Code of Camelot states that only those of noble blood may serve."

"I know."

"About the code itself? Or did you know Lancelot wasn't really a noble?"

Gwen took a long drink. She wanted to trust Morgana with the truth, knowing the other woman often objected to the king's rigid policies. Perhaps she might even be able to _help_ Lancelot if she understood the reasons behind his deception. Until being certain of where she stood on the subject, however, Gwen wasn't willing to take that risk.

"About the code, of course," she said as lightly as she could manage. "I  _have_ lived in Camelot all my life, you know."

"Of course you have," Morgana responded in an apologetic voice. "Forgive me. It's just Uther has so many ridiculous codes and policies, even  _I_  can't keep them straight half the time."

"Do you think the king is being… a little harsh?"

"Not that it's anything new, but yes. If a man has the skill to qualify, why _shouldn't_ he be allowed to fight to defend Camelot? It's his home as well, isn't it? Besides, more men being granted the opportunity to serve would create a stronger kingdom for all of us. Uther is blind if he can't see that."

Gwen nodded in agreement, relieved that Morgana opposed the policy and didn't seem to judge Lancelot for his actions either. Perhaps she might be willing to intercede on his behalf? There was a chance Uther might actually listen to her.

"Lancelot... is he...? How will he be punished?"

"That I don't know. He was taken to the dungeon to await final judgment. Everyone's so distracted with this monster situation. But Gwen, maybe that's for the best. It'll buy him some time; Uther is more likely to go easier on him once his temper has cooled."

It made Gwen's heart ache to think of Lancelot locked up in one of the dismal cells beneath the castle. She knew from experience how lonely and frightening it was down there, with nothing to do except wait to live or die.

Poor Lancelot... he should be out on the training grounds this morning, laughing and sparring with the other knights. After all, he was every bit as worthy of the title as they were, no matter what the king said. He was a knight in his soul, and that wasn't something Uther could give or take away at will.

At that thought, her eyes filled with tears. Only the previous night, he'd been so happy... not due to the privilege involved in his new title, but simply for the honor of being permitted to serve. The dream he'd fought to achieve had been a noble one – the desire to defend the kingdom and protect the innocent. How could anyone find fault with that, much less throw him in a dungeon cell like a common criminal?

"You'll always be a lady to me."

_And you'll always be a knight to me, Sir Lancelot._

Morgana laid a gentle hand on her arm, disrupting her reverie. "I'll speak to Arthur myself as soon as I can, and Uther as well if it comes to that. I know Lancelot means a great deal to you."

Gwen looked at her in surprise. "My lady, I…"

"You what? Thought I wouldn't notice? I wish I could credit myself for being exceptionally observant but really, Gwen, a blind man could see it."

She shifted uncomfortably. How much did Morgana know? Was this a realization she'd come to only this morning? Or had she already been aware of it the night before, choosing to pursue Lancelot anyway?  _No,_  Gwen told herself with a sharp stab of guilt for even considering the possibility.  _Morgana would never do that._

"I need to talk to you about what happened last night. I didn't... what I mean is, _we_ didn't..."

Gwen closed her eyes and sighed. "Please don't. I'm not upset with you, but I really don't want to…"

" _Nothing_ happened, Gwen," Morgana said, surprising her with a laugh. "So what is it exactly that you'd rather  _not_ talk about? The way Lancelot couldn't take his eyes off  _you_ for most of the evening? The fact that he only put up with me out of politeness? Or how about when he stood right here in this chamber and turned me down when I tried to have my way with him?"

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "So you didn't...?"

"No… and believe me, I  _tried_. That was before I knew about you, of course. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize," Gwen said, relaxing somewhat. There was one thing still troubling her, however, a last detail that didn't quite fit. "But the dress..."

Morgana chuckled, explaining how Lancelot had ripped the fastening out of necessity, backing away the moment it was done. "It was like I was  _contagious_ or something. If it had been any other situation, I would've been  _deeply_ offended. But his heart is loyal to you, Gwen. There's no fault in that."

"But how can you be sure? We've only known each other..."

"I know because he told me. He stood right here and admitted it."

Gwen felt a little breathless. "What... what did he  _say?_ "

"I can't recall his words exactly," Morgana said in a thoughtful voice. "We were both intoxicated at the time, of course. But he made it perfectly clear that he cares a great deal for you. You mustn't be angry with him… for telling me, I mean. I'm sure he would've shown more discretion if he hadn't been so drunk."

 _Angry?_  How could she possibly be angry over the idea of Lancelot having feelings for her, whether he kept it a closely guarded secret or shouted it from the rooftops of Camelot?

"Oh, no, my lady. I'm not. Of course not. It's just... I can hardly believe..."

"What? That someone might be infatuated with you? You're a lovely person, Gwen. It was bound to happen sooner or later. And regardless of this unfortunate situation with the seal, I think Lancelot is very worthy of your affections."

"Thank you, my lady," she murmured, not knowing what else to say just then. It was all so unreal, and yet in another way, the most real thing she'd ever felt in her life. She'd tried to convince herself it was all in her head...  _why?_ Deep down, she knew that wasn't the case. She'd known it all along.

"What  _I_  want to know is when this happened," Morgana said happily, interrupting her thoughts. " _How_ this happened. And I _definitely_ want to know how much has happened. You have to tell me  _everything_ , Gwen."

Morgana was nosy by nature, especially when it came to matters of romance. But in truth, Gwen was  _eager_ to talk about her feelings for Lancelot, to hear someone else's insights on the subject. That was a surprise... she was used to keeping most things that left her feeling vulnerable to herself.

Somehow she managed to provide an overview of the previous few days, while leaving out anything involving the deception or the fact that she'd known about it all along. She wasn't ready to own up to that, being as it was Lancelot and Merlin's secret as much as her own. Instead, she talked about the conversations they'd had, how sweet he'd been, followed by the way he'd kissed her hand on several occasions.

"Your hand?" The other woman grinned, giving her a look that could almost be described as a leer. "Has he kissed you anywhere else yet?"

" _Morgana!_ " She blushed deeply. "It isn't... I've only known him for a few days."

"So? From everything you've told me, you can hardly keep your hands off each other. What's stopping you?"

Gwen struggled to find a proper explanation. How to make  _Morgana_ understand? She'd never been one to worry over the outcome when it came to pursuing something she wanted. No, she gave herself over to anything that stirred her emotions, body and soul. She was all fiery passion and restless energy, which was one of the things Gwen admired most about her. But how to describe fear to the fearless?

"I... this is all so new to me. I just assumed that if it was meant to become something real, everything else would happen when the time was right. I just… I suppose I don't want to do anything that might spoil it."

Gwen expected to receive a teasing remark in response. Instead, the other woman looked curiously sad.

"Gwen, there's no such thing as a right time. You have to take what you can while you have the chance. There's no way of knowing if you'll ever be given another."

Frowning, she puzzled over that, but no further explanation was offered.

"Come," Morgana said abruptly, striding across the chamber to her dressing table. "It's well past noon already. You'll want to get started on that laundry, and I'll go see if I can speak with Arthur."


	17. Consequences

#  **Chapter 17: Consequences**

* * *

_"You're not worthy of the knighthood bestowed upon you."_

King Uther's harsh words echoed in Lancelot's mind, the way they had countless times since he'd been locked away in the dungeons. Hours later, and they hurt just as much as they had the moment they'd first been uttered. Perhaps more, now that they'd had time to sink in.

_"You never were."_

Lancelot stared at the ugly gray walls of his cell, replaying the terrible scene over and over in his mind. Prostrate on his knees before the entire court, it hadn't been the unyielding expression on Uther's face that had devastated him so much. No... it had been the sad disappointment he'd found in Arthur's open, honest features that had brought tears to his eyes.

_"And you never will be."_

The king might have officially bestowed his former knighthood, but it was Arthur who'd offered Lancelot a chance to prove himself… Arthur who had been hard, yet exceptionally fair when dealing with an unknown recruit.

It was Arthur who'd given Lancelot those precious few seconds to recover his balance when he'd swung wide and missed. And it was Arthur who'd thrown a friendly arm around his shoulders, talked with him, drank with him, treated him like a brother throughout the previous night's celebrations.

 _And I lied to him,_  Lancelot thought with a great deal of remorse.  _All the while, I was lying to him._

Worse, he'd allowed  _others_ to participate in such a lie.

Indeed, Merlin was not to blame. His motivations had been selfless and honorable, only meant to help a friend who'd found himself in an impossible situation. Both Merlin and Gwen had helped him simply out of kindness, no questions asked and expecting nothing in return.

No, they were entirely innocent. Only Lancelot himself was to blame.

He'd chosen to believe that deception was necessary to correct a terrible injustice, but deep down, he'd been driven by selfishness. Merlin felt guilty for pushing him, but he would've never gone along with it if he'd made honor a priority over his own ambition. No, he'd been all too willing to ignore his better judgment to get what he wanted.

And what of Gwen? Sweet, beautiful, trusting Gwen?

Vividly, Lancelot remembered her reaction as he'd been dragged through the corridors to face the king. She hadn't looked at him the way Merlin had, shocked and angry on his behalf. No... she'd stared at him in disgust, like the mere sight of him made her physically ill.

Why, when she'd known about the deception all along, just as Merlin had? Was it that she'd finally allowed herself to recognize how dishonorable it had truly been? Did she hate him for making her a part of it?

He couldn't blame her if she did.

As soon as he'd found out about the code, the right thing to do would've been to put the thought of becoming a Knight of Camelot from his mind. He should've looked for another way to earn a living, rather than being so determined to have what he wanted that he'd been willing to sacrifice any sense of honor to get it. If it had been his destiny to become a knight, it would've happened someday… why couldn't he have just accepted that?

He'd been so selfish, willing to deceive and allow those he cared about to lie on his behalf. Perhaps he'd questioned it briefly, but had he ever really  _thought_ about the consequences? Not for himself… no, he'd done a shameful thing and was more than willing to accept the appropriate punishment.

But what about the risk he'd taken where others were concerned? In all of this, it was a great mercy that the king was unaware of Merlin and Gwen's participation in his deception. Lancelot had been questioned by the guards, swearing up and down that no one had assisted him at any time. 

No, he hadn't considered the future at all. He'd needed the seal to get his foot in the door, never thinking about the days, months, and then the years that would've followed if he'd earned his place among the knights and the truth had never been discovered.

It had been easy to forget when he'd been lost in a haze of ale and euphoria, overwhelmed by the triumph of fulfilling his dream. But how could he have lived his whole life based on a lie?

Not only had he been incredibly selfish, he'd been a fool. Had he respected the rules and waited for a better opportunity, who knew what might have been possible someday? But now? His name would always be marked with shame and dishonor.

_I only wanted to serve. My actions were selfish and misguided, but I didn't mean any harm. Truly, I didn't. I just wish there was a way I might be able to…_

But then his troubled thoughts were interrupted by the sound of terrified screams, muffled by the thick walls around him. A succession of shrieks filled the air, barely audible at first, swiftly growing louder as the monster approached.

"What's happening?" he cried out in helpless frustration.

There was no reply.

* * *

Huddled in the dim space beneath the seller's booth, Gwen exchanged anxious glances with the woman beside her. She'd thought there could be nothing more frightening than the deafening screeches and fearful screams that had filled the air just moments before, but she'd been wrong. The awful stillness in the aftermath of the attack was so much worse.

She'd tried to emerge several times to see what was happening, but the other woman would always grab her arm, clinging to her fearfully as she begged her not to go.

"Is it gone?"

"I don't know," Gwen whispered back. She did her best to sound soothing, though she was more than a little shaken herself. "If you'd just let me go out and see..."

" _No!_ " the woman cried in a panicked voice, clutching her arm painfully. "You mustn't! What if it comes back?"

She sighed, frustration finally overpowering her fear. All she wanted to do was get back to the palace after a quick stop to check on her father. More important than her own safety even, she wanted to be sure that Merlin was safe. Morgana would be somewhere in the palace, of course, but lord only knew where Arthur's servant was at any given time.

For a moment, she was almost glad Lancelot was locked away in the dungeon. At least where the monster was concerned, he was in the safest place he could possibly be.

"Really, I must go," she said much more firmly, doing her best to be gentle as she disentangled herself.

She felt a great deal of relief as she emerged to find the woman's husband searching anxiously for his wife. Pointing him in the right direction, she turned and walked swiftly toward the palace. The sound of iron hammering metal had just resumed on the next street over, letting her know her father was unharmed.

 _Always working._  Gwen smiled to herself as she hurried along.  _Camelot could probably burn down around him and he'd barely notice._

Chaos was everywhere – abandoned carts, overturned booths, dropped possessions, and forgotten merchandise littering the ground, causing her to stumble on several occasions. Guards in red cloaks filled the streets, shouting commands and struggling to bring order to the still frantic crowd.

"Return to your homes and lock your doors!" one called in a calm voice. "The knights are working to bring this menace under control. Stay indoors until they do and you'll be perfectly safe."

"Make your way home immediately!" another shouted, much less comforting than the first. "Camelot is under curfew. No one is to be out on the streets! King's orders!"

Ducking her head, she tried to hurry past the confusion. The palace was some distance away; she desperately hoped she'd be able to reach it without attracting the guards' notice. Her errand to the lower town had been her final duty for the afternoon, but she needed to find Morgana.

Yes, Morgana would know what strategies were being put in place to defeat the monster... the way she always seemed to know what went on in the Council Chamber. Beyond that, Gwen hadn't even seen her since she'd gone to speak with Arthur, anxious to find out if anything had come of their conversation.

She wanted to make sure that Merlin was safe, as well as Gaius, who was often out and about seeing to his patients during the afternoons.

But most of all, she wanted to see Lancelot. It was impossible to say whether the guards would even let her visit him down in the dungeon, but she had to try. Ever since her conversation with Morgana, she'd longed to go to him and offer what comfort she could. He had to be feeling so alone...

"You must return to your home," a guard abruptly commanded, halting her progress. "You're the blacksmith's daughter, aren't you? Come, I'll escort you."

"No! I'm also the Lady Morgana's maid. She'll be expecting me. Please, I need to..."

"Everyone in the palace will be well aware of the curfew," he responded, guiding her in the opposite direction from the only place she desperately wanted to be. "Your mistress will understand. King's orders, girl. I'm sorry."

For a moment, she was tempted to break free of his grasp. Even if she'd been able to outrun this one, however, there'd no doubt be dozens of other guards ready to prevent her from reaching her destination. With a resigned sigh, she allowed herself to be ushered home.

The sun was just beginning to set over Camelot; dismally, she realized it was highly unlikely that she'd be going anywhere until at least the following morning. All there was to do now was sit alone in her silent home and wait. Wait and worry.

* * *

"My lady," Lancelot said with a deferential bow, even as he wondered why Morgana had taken it upon herself to come down to the cells. Maybe she wanted to express her own displeasure over the deception? It would certainly be understandable. He'd lied to her, too.

"Lancelot," she replied in an even tone that gave nothing away.

"I'm sorry…"

"I didn't come down here for an apology. I came to ask why you did it."

With a sigh of defeat, he lowered his head as he began to speak in a soft, halting voice.

He told her everything, starting with the terrible day raiders had attacked his village, changing his life forever. Much of it was painful, particularly now in the face of his dishonor, but he told her nonetheless. He gave her the truth... which was the least she deserved in light of what he'd done.

As he spoke, his voice became stronger and more impassioned. He went through the years of rigorous preparation, his journey here to Camelot and how devastated he'd been to learn about the First Code... that all his training had been for nothing.

"What I did was wrong. Terribly wrong," he whispered brokenly. "But I only wished to serve. Truly, my lady, I didn't mean any harm. All I ever wanted was..."

Morgana said nothing as he trailed off into silence.

"I'm sorry..." he tried again.

"Lancelot, stop. Please. You had honorable intentions… there's no need to apologize for that."

When he finally dared to raise his head, the eyes staring back at him were gentle and brimming with sympathy.

It didn't surprise him that Gwen and Merlin had felt for his plight. They lived the lives of common people themselves, after all, understanding the limitations that came along with that territory. But Morgana? She was of royal blood – daughter to the king and sister to the prince in all but name. Practically a Pendragon... and it had been Pendragon laws he'd violated.

Morgana cast a quick glance over her shoulder, waiting until two passing guards were out of earshot.

"I care about Uther, but that doesn't mean I believe all his laws are just. He's a hard, stubborn man who often persecutes people unfairly. He doesn't see that everyone should have the right to live as they wish to live, as long as they're not causing harm to others. All he sees are codes, laws, and offenses... and many good people are made to suffer in the process. People just like yourself."

Lancelot was at a loss for words. All those years back in his village, he'd imagined Uther to be a king who was wise and just… a king who  _was_ a king because he was set above the people he ruled. Lancelot had believed him, and particularly his son, to be the personification of all that was right and good.

Before he'd come here, he would've never dared to question Uther's judgment. No, he'd never thought of him simply as a man, as capable of flaws and shortcomings as any other.

Morgana laughed as she stared at him in amazement.

"What? Did you think all of us of noble blood were alike? Perfect?" she snorted. "I suppose it makes sense. I imagine the common people wouldn't allow the nobility the power they do if they ever realized we're no better than they are."

Suddenly, Lancelot saw Uther from an entirely different perspective. He might have been wrong in his actions, but the king hadn't merely stripped away his knighthood and enacted an appropriate punishment. He'd gone out of his way to humble and humiliate him in front of the entire court. Was there any honor in treating a man like that? Using power to strip him of every shred of dignity?

Morgana seemed to guess the direction of his thoughts. "The code is unfair. It's as simple as that. As I told Gwen earlier, why should you  _not_ be allowed to serve like anyone else? Camelot is home to us all. What kind of king has the right to tell a man he cannot defend it at the level appropriate to his skill? It's absurd. I don't blame you for what you did. In fact, I admire you."

"Thank you, my lady," he murmured, greatly comforted by her words. "Gwen... is she... does she hate me? The way she looked at me earlier in the hall..."

Morgana laughed merrily. "I was wondering when you were going to bring her up. Of course she doesn't hate you. She was feeling ill before she even saw you, and I'm sure the shock didn't help. Poor thing. I thought she was about to retch when she left my chamber so suddenly."

He frowned, concern overriding his relief. "Is she all right? Where is she now? Has Gaius seen to her?"

"Calm down, Lancelot. She's fine, just had a little too much to drink last night like the rest of us. It was a momentary thing. As for where she is now, she was in the lower town when the monster attacked."

She paused as Lancelot started to interrupt her, holding up a hand to ward off his anxious questions.

"Before you say anything, she's fine. I received word from the guard who escorted her home just a little while ago. Uther has Camelot under curfew, so it's unlikely she'll be able to return to the palace tonight. Otherwise, I'm sure she would've already been down to see you."

A guard approached just then, bowing respectfully to Morgana. "Mealtime for the prisoner, my lady. My apologies, but the hour is growing late and the king doesn't like visitors down here after dark."

"Of course," she responded, giving him an appealing smile. "Please, if you could just give me one more minute to speak with the prisoner? I promise it will not be long."

The guard nodded and backed away, looking a little dazed. Morgana smirked at him, then turned back to Lancelot.

"Don't lose hope," she whispered. "I haven't had a chance to speak with Arthur yet, but I already suspect he doesn't agree with Uther on this. He doesn't speak up as often as he should, but he's a very different man from his father. Stay strong, Lancelot. All may yet be well."

"Thank you, my lady," he said softly as she turned to go. "For everything."


	18. Loyalty

#  **Chapter 18: Loyalty**

* * *

Not long after Morgana departed, Lancelot received another visitor. Arthur didn't come quietly as she had, however. He stormed into the cell, blue eyes blazing with fury.

"I should've known. How could I have been so stupid? You don't sound like a knight, you don't even  _look_ like a knight!"

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. What else was there to say?

"I'm sorry, too, because you  _fight_ like a knight," when Arthur spoke these words, the anger was suddenly gone. In his voice instead was something Lancelot had never expected to hear there again.  _Respect_.

He looked up in surprise.

"And I need... _Camelot_ needs..."

Deceptions, imprisonments, fake seals, and dishonor? Suddenly, none of that mattered. This was one warrior speaking to another, in a language that only those who were born to fight could understand.

_Arthur recognizes that in me. He isn't like his father, willing to discredit me over a simple breach of code. He sees who I really am and knows I have worth, noble or not._

The thought filled a tiny place in Lancelot's heart that had lain hollow since his shame had been discovered. No... in truth, that feeling had been there since he'd decided to impersonate a noble. It was something inside him that had despised the idea of having to pretend to be something he wasn't, stung by the realization that he'd never be enough as himself no matter how skilled he might be in the art of combat.

"The creature?" he said, taking a purposeful step closer.

"We could not kill it. I've never faced its like."

"I faced it myself, sire. Some days past. I struck it full square. I wondered how it endured."

"There are those that believe this… Griffin, is a creature of magic, that only magic can destroy it."

"Do you believe this?" he asked. It would certainly make sense.

"It doesn't matter what I believe," Arthur said in a resigned voice. "The use of magic is not permitted. The knights must prevail with steel and sinew alone."

Uther's hatred of magic was no secret, even to otherwise uninformed peasants in the most remote villages. He'd driven it from the land right around the time of Lancelot's birth, and ever since, it was known far and wide that he dealt with all who dared to practice sorcery without a shred of mercy.

In the past, Lancelot had always assumed magic must be a terrible thing if the king found it necessary to deal with it so decisively. But perhaps Uther was wrong about this as well? After all, the sword was a dangerous weapon, yet it could be used for good as well as evil… could magic really be so different? 

"Sire," Lancelot said, pushing his thoughts aside as he waited for further instructions.

"There's a horse waiting outside."

"Thank you," he said gratefully. "Thank you, sire."

"Lancelot, take it and never return to this place," Arthur's voice was suddenly stern and cold.

 _Banished?_  The thought was like a knife to the heart.

"No. No, please," he begged aloud, too desperate to restrain himself. "It's not my freedom I seek. I only wish to serve with honor."

"I know," Arthur said quietly.

"Then let me ride with you, sire."

 _Damn your father!_ he thought with unaccustomed vehemence. _To hell with codes and rules and titles! You know I'm worthy of this, I saw it in your eyes! You want me at your side when you face this creature. I know you do!_

"I cannot. My father knows nothing of this. I release you myself, but I can do no more. Now go, before I change my mind."

He hesitated, wanting to say something,  _anything_ , that might sway the other man. A dozen protests bubbled up in his throat – pleas, promises, pledges of undying fealty. But in the end, perhaps it wasn't fair to make this more difficult than it had to be. Arthur was already doing everything he could, and far more than Lancelot deserved after lying to him. 

_Who am I to ask him to defy the king on my behalf? His own father?_

... even though the king was wrong.

Lancelot didn't deny the thought, scolding himself for the disloyalty as he'd done a few days before. Because, well, it was true.

No one stopped him as he made his way up the stairs and through the corridors that led to the street outside. The horse was there, just as Arthur had promised, but that wasn't the surprising part. Having spent so many hours mucking out the stables, Lancelot knew very well that the beautiful white steed was one of the best... the type of horse only a knight might be permitted to ride.

Arthur had been giving him permission all along, proven by the fact that this wasn't a regular traveling mount. No, this was a war horse!

He couldn't receive instruction with the knights, nor could he ride with them when they set forth to face the Griffin. No, Arthur couldn't openly defy the king by allowing anything like that. And yet he'd devised a way to grant him what he wanted most of all – a chance to redeem himself in the face of his shame.

If it was his fate to die tonight, then his life would be a worthy sacrifice given in service to Camelot. If it was his destiny to survive? He'd win respect for his courageous act. Either way, none of Uther's judgments would ever change the fact that his honor would be restored.

At heart, Arthur was a soldier, one who understood that he'd prefer death in battle to a life lived in exile and shame. He'd set him free, knowing exactly what the result of that freedom would be.

For years, Lancelot had idolized the legendary Prince Arthur based on the wild tales and heroic deeds he'd heard about in his remote village tavern. He'd grown up imagining nobles to be more divine than human, possessing greater wisdom, goodness, and compassion than all others.

What a foolish thing to believe. 

Morgana had been right – even those of royal blood were human, with flaws and virtues just like anyone else. One might be born to a noble privilege, but it was upon them to decide whether to use that power for good or ill.

Lancelot had come to Camelot to earn the right to serve, never realizing it would be up to him to decide whether a man, king or otherwise, was even worthy of his service to begin with. A week ago, such a thought would've seemed arrogant beyond belief. Now? He knew it for truth.

The king had disappointed his expectations, while the prince had exceeded them. Arthur had shown him wisdom, kindness, compassion, and fair judgment, both as a son of the house of Northumbria and as a commoner. He'd seen value in him that had nothing to do with titles, making Lancelot wish he could've gotten to know him better in return... not as a commander, but just as a man.

Strange as it seemed, he had the feeling they could've been good friends. 

Lancelot reached Gwen's house just then, knocking and entering without waiting for a response. It wasn't as courteous as he might've preferred, nor was coming to ask her for yet another favor when she'd already done so much for him. Alas, he had no other choice.

Gwen had on the dress she'd been wearing when they'd first met, seeming even lovelier now than when he'd first laid eyes on her. Had that really been only a week ago? It was hard to remember a time when she hadn't been an important part of his life.

"Lancelot, what are you doing here?" She looked startled, though not unhappy to see him.

"I have no time to explain. I need weapons, armor, the best you've got."

"What's this all about?"

"Arthur stands in mortal peril," he explained as briefly as he could manage. "I must do what I can to protect him. It's my duty. Knight or not."

"You really believe that, don't you?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Lancelot, I don't believe I've ever met anyone like you before," she said softly. There was something in her face... some emotion he couldn't quite put his finger on. Was it admiration? Something more than that? He didn't know, but wished he could stay right where he was long enough to figure it out.

But of course, there was precious little time, fleeting moments that were swiftly draining away as he struggled to find the words he needed. This might be his last chance to tell her how he truly felt, but how to explain how much she'd come to mean to him? It seemed too big for words.

"Guinevere," he started. "If I should not return..."

"Don't go, Lancelot. Please."

There was a vulnerability he'd never seen in her face before – anxiety, longing, regret, along with what seemed like a dozen other emotions reflected back at him, all begging him not to leave. Under any other circumstances, there'd be no question – he'd stay forever if she asked it of him. 

But not now... not like this. He could have no place in the world as a man of shame and dishonor, unworthy of everything that meant anything to him. Regrettably, he didn't have the time to make her understand that.

"But go I must," was all he said aloud.

She nodded in what seemed like resignation, gazing up at him with sweet, vulnerable eyes... eyes he'd already come to adore above all other things.  _If I die tonight, let the memory of those eyes be the last thing I ever see,_  he thought wistfully.  _Let my final thoughts be of her._

* * *

Gwen wasn't sure how it happened. One minute, Lancelot was staring down at her, his expression intense and filled with longing. The next, she was in his arms.

With her head resting comfortably against his chest, she could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady against her cheek. His hands caressed her back as she clung to him, his touch soothing away all her worries and fears, if only for a moment. It was as if all the feelings she had for him, so many emotions she didn't even understand, could be answered in a simple embrace.

He held her close, burying his face against the side of her neck and inhaling deeply, as if memorizing her scent. She followed his lead, nuzzling his chest and smelling clean perspiration, the faint odor of soap, along with something else that was strongly masculine and uniquely him. Unable to help herself, she let out a soft sigh of pleasure.

Feeling his heartbeat quicken at the sound, she pulled back and looked up into his face. The dark eyes staring down at her were suddenly hot, hungry, filled with unmistakable longing, nearly making her gasp in response.

It was the same look he'd given her in Gaius's chamber, the one that had been responsible for her abrupt withdrawal. She felt a similar confusion now, desperately wanting to hurl herself into the unknown, yet terrified to do so, somehow knowing she'd never be the same.

_He's going to kiss me..._

But then the spell was broken by the sound of dozens of horses passing outside, hooves clattering loudly on the paved cobblestones. She heard Arthur shouting commands as the knights rode by, instructing them to keep their shields in place and to aim for vulnerable spots.

"Do not hesitate for a second!" he cried, sounding completely confident. "We will bring this creature down, whatever the cost."

Turning her face from the window, Gwen looked up at Lancelot again. Expecting him to have been distracted by Arthur and the knights, she was surprised to discover that the intensity in his gaze hadn't changed. If she stayed here in his arms...

Pulling away, she cursed herself as she did so. But it was too much... how could she let herself feel so vulnerable when she might not ever see him again? If she left her heart open, allowed him to kiss her, how could she watch him walk out the door into mortal danger?

"Come," she said as lightly as she could manage. "I'll help you with your armor."


	19. The Magical Moment

#  **Chapter 19: The Magical Moment**

* * *

Gwen left Lancelot alone to change out of his stained shirt and trousers, telling him he couldn't ride out to fight in filthy clothes. It was a silly concern and they both knew it; in all likelihood, whatever he happened to be wearing would be soaked with blood before the night was over.

He did as she asked, however, pulling on the spare clothes she'd made for him when she'd sewn his knight's regalia just a few nights before.

It was far easier for her to pretend everything was normal, he realized. Better to imagine he was only going down to the training grounds to spar with Arthur or riding out on a routine patrol. The idea of him setting forth to face a deadly monster that would probably end his life... she wasn't ready to accept it.

He wasn't frightened for himself, but he hated to imagine how difficult this would be for her… particularly if the worst should happen. Would she weep for him if he never returned? It was terrible to realize he'd be the cause of her grief if she did, beyond any ability to comfort her tears.

 _This is the only way,_  he told himself again with grim determination.  _I have no other choice._

"That's better," she said with a smile as he emerged, her arms filled with mail and plate that she deposited on the table. "I hope you don't mind wearing the same armor as before. It fits you so well, after all, and there isn't time..."

"Of course not. Thank you. But… well, it's very fine and you might not get it back."

"Lancelot," she said softly as she helped him adjust his cowl. "This armor belongs to you. I can't imagine allowing anyone else to wear it."

Moved by the gift, he felt a lump in his throat as he nodded in appreciation.

Buckles were fastened, weapons equipped, boots and gloves slipped on, and it was done... no more excuses to linger and no time for it either. He walked to the door and pulled it open, turning to face her as she handed him his helmet.

"Gwen..." He drank in the sight of her, making the most of what might be his final chance to do so. There was so much emotion in her eyes, so fathomless he could have easily lost himself in their depths, forgetting all about what he had to do. But no, this final attempt to restore his honor was for her sake as much as his own.

Reaching up to caress her face with gloved fingers, he sucked in a deep breath as she closed her eyes and raised a hand to cover his.

"Guinevere, I wanted to say..."

"I know," she whispered. "Me too."

The need to kiss her was suddenly so urgent, Lancelot could scarcely fight it. How much he wanted to cover those beautiful lips with his own, to show her all the things he couldn't seem to put into words. Just one kiss, and he could die a happy man.

No. She'd withdrawn only a few minutes before when she'd sensed his intention, making it clear that she still wasn't ready. Why? It was a mystery he didn't have time to figure out, and in the end, made little difference anyway. Regardless of his own need, he could never push for anything that wasn't freely given. No, not even if this was meant to be their final goodbye.

"Farewell, my lady," he whispered, raising her hand to his lips one last time.

* * *

Struggling to sort out her tangled emotions, Gwen could only stare at the empty space Lancelot had filled so completely just minutes before.

He'd wanted to kiss her, she realized, remembering the way his eyes had burned down into hers. Yes, the desperation had been too obvious to miss, and yet he'd resisted the urge, not willing to push her if she wasn't ready. Even while knowing he might easily die tonight…

As if from out of nowhere, Morgana's words came back to her, even as she admitted to herself that her hesitancy, the lingering fear of the unknown, was _nothing_ compared to the way she'd feel if she never saw him again.

"Gwen, there's no such thing as a right time. You have to take what you can while you have the chance. There's no way of knowing if you'll ever be given another."

And then all further thought fled her mind as she raced after him, terrified he might've already mounted and ridden off... that her moment of clarity had come too late.

No, there he was, only just now reaching his horse. She called his name and he turned to face her, so fine, brave and strong, clad from head to toe in armor that shimmered in the moonlight.  _Was there ever a man so beautiful?_  she wondered wistfully as she came closer.

"Lancelot," she said again breathlessly, practically hurling herself into his arms when she reached him. He caught her as she'd known he would, pulling her close and whispering her name as he buried his face in her hair.

"Gwen, I don't want to leave you. Truly, I don't. But…"

"I know," she said, lifting her head and raising her eyes to his. "I just couldn't let you go without..."

And with a boldness she'd never known she was capable of, she slid her fingers into the soft hair at the back of his neck, urging his mouth down to meet hers.

His grunt of surprise quickly turned into a groan of pleasure, lips soft yet firm as they treated her own to a succession of kisses that were far more tender than she could have ever imagined. Shivers skittered up her spine, smoothed away by the strong hands that gently caressed her back.

She let out a little moan, pressing herself closer as he whispered her name, his warm breath mingling with hers. "Gwen..."

And then it was his tongue she felt, teasing ever so gently along the seam of her slightly parted lips, begging access to deeper pleasures she wasn't yet aware of. Her mouth opened under his, more by instinct than conscious choice.

She clung to him helplessly as she submitted to his gentle exploration, overwhelmed by the intensity of his slow, deep kisses. And then timid and unsure, yet hungry for him, she began to mimic the movements, her own tongue delving, swirling and caressing in a rhythm that was strange at first, but soon became the most natural, utterly delicious feeling in the world.

Groaning low in his throat, Lancelot pulled her closer as he deepened the kiss. Gwen felt her legs begin to quiver as her fingers tangled restlessly in his hair, dropping to trail across the hard muscles of his back as he lifted his hands to cup her face.

Being close to him this way was an exquisite pleasure, the sweetest satisfaction and the most insatiable craving all at the same time. The tighter he held her, the deeper and more urgent his kisses became, the more the hunger inside of her seemed to grow. She wanted... she didn't  _know_ how to describe it. Just…  _more_.

But then the seemingly peaceful night was disrupted by a series of piercing screeches in the distance, followed by the faint shouts of knights, their words indistinguishable.

With a shuddering sigh, Lancelot broke the kiss and pulled away. After putting a little distance between them, he remained frozen for a few heartbeats, panting heavily as he stared at her with a hunger that somehow eclipsed all the previous longing she'd seen in his eyes. For a moment, she was almost certain he'd reach out and pull her into his arms again. 

Instead, he clenched his hands into fists, squeezing his eyes shut as if struggling for control. When he opened them again, he was staring beyond her.

"Go," he said in a hoarse voice. "Get to the palace. If we cannot defeat this creature, it will attack the city again. Whatever happens, stay inside until the danger has passed."

With nothing more than a nod of agreement, she turned and walked swiftly toward the Citadel, breaking into a run as soon as she was out of sight. She had to get to Merlin.

"Merlin!" she gasped only a few minutes later, bursting into Gaius's chamber without warning. "Lancelot's riding out to kill the Griffin!"

"He's  _what?_ " But before she could manage a proper explanation, he was already racing out the door.

* * *

Lancelot was saddling his horse when Merlin found him, anxious to make their farewells quick so he could be on his way. He'd already endured his share of painful goodbyes when he'd had to let go of Gwen not once, but twice. Come what may, his thoughts were firmly fixed on duty now, which lay beyond the city walls. There wasn't another second to spare.

"I'm coming with you," Merlin said, blue eyes filled with determination.

"No, you're not," he responded shortly. Whatever this madness was, he didn't have time for it.

"Just try and stop me."

And then he couldn't help remembering the way Merlin had scrambled helplessly in the face of the Griffin, shaking in fear and tripping over his own feet without so much as a hand raised in his own defense. Had Lancelot not come along just at that moment, he would've been slaughtered like a helpless animal.

"Merlin," he said, practically growling in frustration. "You're not a soldier!"

 _It's my duty to fight for people like you,_ he thought in silent frustration. _What use am I if you're determined to go rushing into danger with no way to defend yourself? You won't stand a chance, and I don't know if I'll be able to protect you this time._

"You said it yourself, Lancelot – Arthur needs all the help he can get. Now let's go."

Unfortunately, there was no time to argue. Perhaps if he were a harder man, he might have knocked the other man unconscious with the hilt of his sword, forcing him to remain behind. He didn't have it in him to raise a hand against a friend, however, not even with the best of intentions.

Instead, he only nodded in resignation.

Merlin raced away without a word, returning almost immediately with what appeared to be a battle lance. Fumbling awkwardly, he struggled to maintain his grip as it wavered in the air between them.

Lancelot tried to swallow a laugh, not entirely succeeding. "Merlin, please don't tell me you mean to use that."

"Of course not. This is for you."

Accepting it with an interested grunt, Lancelot examined the shaft more closely. It was heavy, sturdy, not the hollow wood of a jousting lance, but the solid oak of a battle weapon. Best of all, the point was razor sharp, barbed and deadly.

His sword had shattered, but  _this_... at full charge, it could deliver ten times the force he could manage with a blade in hand. Of course, if the creature was magical, even the most impressive force of muscle and steel would be useless against it. But this was the strongest weapon available, and so Lancelot would use it to the best of his ability. What other choice did he have?

"Let's go… unless you've decided to abandon this foolishness and return to the palace where you belong."

Merlin grinned. "Not a chance."

* * *

Gwen stood beside Morgana's open window, biting her fingernails down to stubs as she watched the twin figures gallop out of the city gates and disappear into the darkness beyond. One was dressed from head to toe in heavy, protective armor, holding a lance proudly aloft. The other was wearing only simple homespun, without so much as a dagger to defend himself.

 _What have I done?_  she fretted. She'd only meant for him to try and talk Lancelot out of this madness, not to ride out and risk his own life, too! No, she'd never thought Merlin was like that… he'd always seemed to have too much sense to do something so reckless.

 _Not that Lancelot doesn't have sense,_ she quickly amended.  _But Merlin isn't a fighter. He's not trained for this. What is he doing? Oh, this is all my fault..._

She nearly jumped out of her skin when Morgana touched her on the back, pulling her hand away from her mouth before wrapping her limp fingers around a glass of wine.

"Thank you, my lady, but I'm not thirsty," she said absently.

"It's not for your thirst. It's for your nerves. Drink," the other woman commanded, then softened her voice. "Trust me, it will help."

Gwen had stayed with Gaius at first, but hadn't been able to tolerate his comforting pats and constant reassurances for long. No, not when his own fear for Merlin had been painfully obvious and it was her fault he was in danger in the first place.

She'd come here instead, forgetting all about courtesy as she'd burst into the chamber, babbling about Griffins and Lancelot and certain death. Morgana had been startled by the panicked entrance, but she'd shown no surprise at the news itself.

"I knew Arthur would do the right thing," she'd said with a great deal of satisfaction. "Good thing, too. I didn't even have a chance to speak with him today, what with all the commotion around here."

So Arthur had released Lancelot, and not because Morgana had talked him into it either. He'd done it because he'd known the punishment was unjust – what other reason could there be? She felt a little more warmly toward him, realizing he'd chosen to look beyond his father's ridiculous codes, obviously recognizing the goodness in Lancelot. He might be arrogant, but he was surprisingly kind when he wanted to be.

Morgana had hugged her and murmured a few reassuring words when she'd first arrived, but refrained from fussing over her as Gaius had done. Gwen was grateful for the quiet support – though nothing could relieve her anxiety as long as Lancelot and Merlin were at the mercy of that terrible creature, being here was still more comforting than anywhere else would've been.

All was silent for what seemed like an endless time... until another succession of piercing screeches filled the air. Dozens of men cried out in response; she felt a chill in the pit of her stomach as one by one, their battle shouts turned into screams of terror and anguish.

After a few minutes, the creature began to shriek again, the flapping of its wings echoing off the stone walls of Camelot like distant thunder.

Was Lancelot out there lying helpless on the ground, wounded, bleeding... dying? There was no sound to be heard in response to the creature now, no human voices filling the night air. No, there was nothing but the Griffin itself, screaming in triumph as if mocking her silent fear.

Then there was a deafening crash, as if the walls of Camelot were coming down around them, and the glass slipped from Gwen's fingers and shattered. All she could do was watch as the rich, red liquid seeped into the stones beneath her feet, a chilling mimicry of the blood that must be staining the ground outside. 

Merlin's blood. Arthur's blood. _Lancelot's_ blood.

Trembling violently, she could only stare at the floor in mute horror.


	20. The Truth Inside

#  **Chapter 20: The Truth Inside**

* * *

An eerie fog filled the air as Lancelot and Merlin rode through the forest, guided by the sound of furious screeches and shouted commands in the distance. The temperature of the warm summer night began to plummet as they drew closer, the woods around them becoming cold, sinister, forbidding.

The Griffin shrieked again, louder and more menacing than before. Piercing noises echoed off the trees, as the heavy steel of dozens of blades shattered against the beast's impenetrable hide. Men screamed in terror and agony, choking off into silence as they were ravaged without mercy. There was a series of sickening thuds, the sound of bodies being flung through the air and hitting the ground with forceful impact.

Surrounded by the stark reality of death, Lancelot hesitated.

Years of hard training and courageous resolve melted away, replaced by a paralyzing fear that gripped his heart and set him to trembling. He felt like a helpless little boy all over again, desperately longing to flee to safety the way he'd done when his village had been attacked by raiders all those years before.

 _I know nothing about real combat,_ he suddenly realized with a feeling of despair. _Nothing._

Books and codes, training sessions and proper techniques, sparring matches with friendly opponents... what use was any of that to him now? Other than his first encounter with the Griffin, when there'd been no time to  _think_ about the danger involved, he'd never faced a deadly foe.

_Do I have the strength to go through with this?_

It had been easy to believe in honor and courage from afar... simple to pledge the sacrifice of his life, bravely and boldly, when it was merely a concept and not reality. Now that the moment was upon him to prove the truth of those words, however, Lancelot realized how naive he'd been.

His vows had been the boasting of a boy, not the promises of a man who truly understood what it meant to put his life in peril for the sake of others.

He didn't have to do this. There was still the option of turning his horse around and riding hard in the opposite direction, the chance to leave this place and never look back. He could find another occupation for himself, one where he might enjoy peace and safety for the rest of his days. Of course, he'd live with the shame of what he'd done... but at least he'd be alive.

With that thought, Lancelot realized that the  _real_ test of his skill and courage, the proof that he'd been worthy of the knighthood, lay in the choice he made now. And it was  _his_ decision – there was nothing forcing him to ride headlong into mortal danger, no obligation or vows of servitude to hold him here. He was a free man.

Now was the time for truth... the moment to make the call that would shape the rest of his life. This was the final chance to turn back, to choose a different path.

_My last chance... for what? To walk away from everything that means anything to me? Everything I ever hope to live and die for?_

And in that moment, the choice was made.

Exchanging a quick glance with Merlin, Lancelot found the faith he needed reflected back at him through a pair of gentle blue eyes. Swallowing his remaining fear, he gave his friend a small nod before he nudged his horse into motion.

When he moved forward, it was with a renewed sense of purpose, an absolute certainty that removed any lingering shred of doubt from his mind.

 _This is not what I'd like to be,_  he knew deep in his heart, as he'd never quite known it before.  _This is what I am._

Crumpled bodies littered the ground as they reached the site of the attack, silent and unmoving. As they dismounted and searched through the carnage, he felt a stab of grief. Many were men he recognized... men he'd talked, laughed, and drank with only the night before. It seemed like a memory from a different life now, as his gaze passed over their frozen faces. These men would never laugh again.

"Arthur..." Merlin gasped. Lancelot rushed to his side as he knelt beside the fallen prince, searching desperately for a pulse.

"Well?" he asked hopefully.

"He's alive." 

There were tears in the other man's eyes as he laid his hand on Arthur's chest, a gesture that was surprisingly tender. This was the truth of his feelings, Lancelot realized. Beneath all the jabs and insults, Merlin deeply loved the man he served.

But then the Griffin reappeared, circling the treetops and shrieking an ominous warning as it searched for a place to land. Lancelot exchanged a meaningful look with his friend and then mounted his horse, galloping off to position himself for the charge.

Letting out a piercing scream as it landed, the creature waited, taunting Lancelot with its wordless cries. They were noises meant to intimidate and inspire terror, but he was beyond that now. Fixing his foe with an unwavering stare, steely and determined, he lowered the visor of his helmet and prepared himself for his final ride.

The frightened horse reared beneath him, quickly soothed by murmured words and a gentle touch. A practiced nudge of heel to flank and then he was off, galloping headlong into the clutches of the Griffin... into the jaws of almost certain death.

It should have been the most terrifying experience of his life, but instead, Lancelot felt exhilarated, knowing beyond a shadow of doubt that this was what he'd been born to do. He'd always heard that a person's entire life flashed before their eyes at the end. Perhaps that was true for some, but his thoughts were only of his happiest moments within Camelot's walls.

As he charged forward, he pictured Merlin and Gaius teasing each other with loving affection. Merlin, the first real friend he'd ever had, championing his quest for knighthood and showing faith in him as no one had done before.

He remembered Arthur and the way he'd treated him with understanding and respect, both before and after his lack of nobility had been revealed. Following that, he spared a few precious seconds for Morgana, who'd brought him comfort in the face of his shame, supporting both his ambition to serve and his feelings for Gwen.

Most of all, he thought of her. Closing his eyes, he imagined all the tender looks that had passed between them, each speaking a thousand words that voices could not utter. He marveled over the miracle of her sweet, uncertain kisses, given in their last moments together like some priceless treasure... lovely lips he would imagine himself kissing with his last breath. He'd fallen in love with her instantly, effortlessly, as if…

 _I love her,_ he admitted to himself with a sense of wonder as the horse picked up speed beneath him, realizing that this was the feeling he hadn't been able to put into words while in her presence. "And I'll love her until the day I die."

Spoken in a whisper, the vow was whipped away by the rushing wind that blew in his wake. That wind carried the words back to Camelot… straight to Gwen, though he had little hope that she might hear them now.

And then as he charged past Merlin, Lancelot's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a frantic shout he couldn't understand.

"Bregdan anweald gafeluec!"

_What?_

"Bregdan anweald gafeluec!" Merlin yelled again, sounding even more insistent than before.

_Why is he screaming at me in some foreign tongue? What is he trying to say?_

The Griffin let out a deafening screech just then and began to charge. Gripping the lance more firmly, Lancelot touched his heels to his horse's flanks, begging for more speed.

"Bregdan anweald gafeluec."

The words were murmured softly this time, each syllable drawn out with quiet determination. Somehow they reached his ears above the rushing wind, the piercing screeches of the Griffin, and the growing distance between himself and Merlin. They came to him as clearly as if they'd been spoken in a quiet room.

Suddenly, the lance in his hand grew warm, seeming to hum with the energy of a living thing. The weapon caught fire with a hiss, alighting with flames of blindingly brilliant blue.

_Magic! Merlin is using magic!_

And then there was no room for further thought as he slammed into the Griffin with an impact that rattled his bones. With a deafening sound, the glowing lance penetrated the creature's chest as no other weapon had been able to do. It gave a final scream as it fell, hitting the ground with a force that seemed to shake the walls of Camelot in the distance.

Lancelot swayed back in the saddle, managing to keep his seat as the horse charged onward, still driven forward by the momentum of the attack. Gradually slowing, then turning as his mount was finally brought to a standstill, he stared in disbelief at the monster lying dead on the ground in his wake.

" _Yes!_ " Merlin cried, grinning triumphantly.

Happy but overwhelmed, he panted with exertion after his wild charge, still quivering from the force of the blow he'd struck. Taking a deep breath, he tried to settle his nerves and gather his thoughts enough to speak.

It was a lot to take in. The creature was dead. He was alive. Merlin had magic.  _Powerful_ magic. Merlin had saved his life. Merlin...

Arthur stirred just then, letting out a groan of pain.

Merlin suddenly seemed frightened, opening and closing his mouth helplessly as he silently begged Lancelot with his eyes. Without a word, he turned and ran away.

 _Say nothing,_ was the message he'd read in that worried stare. _Arthur must not know._

"What…?" Arthur murmured as he struggled to his feet, trailing off as he noticed the Griffin's lifeless body and the lance still gripped tightly in his trembling hand.

"Sire."

"You did it. You killed it, Lancelot!" he cried, giving him a look of gratitude and tremendous respect... as if he were some sort of hero.

 _But I'm not,_  a voice inside Lancelot whispered, a realization that dampened the joy of the moment. Merlin was the hero... and no one could ever know.

"Come, we must tell the king of your victory! Tell me how it happened. How did you do it, Lancelot? Over a dozen knights and we couldn't even make a  _scratch!_ You must have hit it with the force of a battering ram!"

He rode closer, dismounting when he reached Arthur's side. "Sire, please take my horse. I'll walk back."

" _You_ are the hero, Lancelot. The entire kingdom owes you a great debt. The horse is yours and you  _will_ ride back to Camelot as you deserve… like a knight returning in triumph from the field of battle."

"Sire, please. You're injured. It wouldn't be right..."

"It wouldn't be right for you to disobey a direct order," Arthur retorted, though he was obviously trying to hide a smile. "Now mount up and let's go."

Lancelot held his horse to a slow walk all the way back to the city, keeping pace with Arthur as he lumbered along, doing his best to hide a very noticeable limp. _Why will he not just ride?_ he fretted, hardly able to stand the guilt. _Even if he thinks I killed the Griffin…_

Meanwhile, Arthur chattered away happily, oblivious to his inner turmoil.

"I had no idea you were so skilled with the lance. When my father restores your knighthood, we'll have to get you signed up for the tournaments. Some of our better jousters have begun to take their victories for granted. We need a man like you to keep them on their toes."

"Restores my knighthood, sire?" A few hours ago, the idea would have thrilled him, but now...

"Of course!" Arthur exclaimed. "You killed the Griffin. What more could you do to prove yourself worthy? Even my father will see that, I have no doubt about it."

Lancelot sighed heavily. He still wanted to join the knighthood, to pledge life and loyalty to Arthur's service. But based on another deception? He didn't feel bad for the lie itself... at least this one was honorable, necessary for protection, not based on selfish ambition. But taking credit for Merlin's actions? At least his skill in the field had won him his previous title.

 _I want to earn everything I receive based on my own merits,_ he admitted to himself with a touch of sadness.  _If that isn't possible at this time, then I must give up my quest for knighthood until that day comes. I cannot compromise my honor again or take credit for something I didn't do._

* * *

Gwen knelt on the floor of Morgana's chamber, sweeping up broken glass and scrubbing at the large red stain left by the wine she'd spilled. Working the brush furiously, she channeled all of her worry and frustration into the task.

 _How much longer?_  she wondered anxiously, almost beginning to feel that hearing the worst would be less troubling than not knowing either way.  _When will there be word?_

"Oh, there's Merlin!" Morgana said, as casually as if he'd only gone down to the lower town to collect a bundle of herbs.

Nearly spilling the bucket of soapy water, Gwen stood abruptly. "Where?" she gasped, seconds before she spotted the lone figure that was racing up the palace steps. He'd ridden out with Lancelot... and had returned alone. 

_There must be a reasonable explanation. He can't be dead. Please, no._

"Gwen, it doesn't necessarily mean..." Morgana started. Looking at Gwen's face however, she must've seen something in her expression which caused her to trail off into silence. Perhaps it was the realization that the only thing that would comfort Gwen in that moment was something she couldn't give.

The minutes passed in silence, seeming more like hours as the women kept their vigil. There'd been no other sound following the terrible crash, and that felt as if it had been a lifetime ago.

But at long last, they were both startled by an urgent knock. "I'll get it, my lady," Gwen said automatically.  _Not bad news,_  she thought anxiously as she crossed the chamber.  _Please don't let him be dead. I won't be able to stand it._

She opened the door with a trembling hand, surprised to find a cheerful looking Merlin waiting on the other side. He grinned at her, entering the chamber without being invited just as he always did.

"Gwen! You'll never believe..."

"Gwen!" Morgana interrupted. "Quick, come look!"

Merlin followed her as she rushed over to the window, obviously forgetting all about what he'd come there to say. Gwen stared out over the city, letting out a gasp of surprise as she saw the two figures who were entering the main gates.

With his head high and lance held proudly aloft, Lancelot rode into Camelot, the very picture of a conquering hero. His horse pranced restlessly beneath him, clearly impatient with the slow gait as he kept pace with Arthur who was walking at his side.

"Lancelot's done it," Merlin said from behind her, sounding proud and exuberant. "He's defeated the Griffin!"

At those words, the unbearable weight of fear melted away, leaving her drained and shaken in the aftermath. Overwhelmed by gratitude and relief, she put a hand to her mouth and promptly burst into tears.


	21. Farewell to Camelot

#  **Chapter 21: Farewell to Camelot**

* * *

Lancelot hadn't expected Uther to react well to his presence when he'd reluctantly followed Arthur into the Council Chamber. Despite the limited time he'd spent around the king, he wasn't difficult to understand... hard, stubborn, unyielding to a fault. There was no point in hoping a man like that would offer second chances.

Poor Arthur... so obviously desperate to find some sense of honor in his father that was similar to his own. Clearly expecting Uther to be grateful to the man who'd destroyed the Griffin, commoner or not, his face had transformed from joy to bewilderment, and then to disappointed anger as the king had coldly ordered him from the room instead.

No, Lancelot hadn't been surprised when Uther had fixed him with that contemptuous stare, steel blue eyes no warmer than they'd been that morning. Where the king was concerned, it didn't matter whether he'd slain a hundred Griffins. All he'd ever see was a peasant who'd broken the law.

To Uther, Lancelot was worthless.

The realization didn't even hurt anymore. After all, why should he care anything for the opinion of a man he couldn't even bring himself to respect?

No... what  _hurt_ was hearing Arthur's angry shouts through the door, arguing vehemently on his behalf. 

If he somehow convinced his father to restore Lancelot's knighthood, it would be an honor he could not refuse. To do so would be an insult to a man who had shown him nothing but kindness. No, he would have to accept, then somehow live with the shame of taking credit for Merlin's actions.

And if he  _did_ accept, what then?

Uther would always resent him. He'd never be a true knight in the king's eyes, who'd no doubt look for fault in him at every turn. And when Arthur came to his defense, it would be a source of bitter conflict between them. How could he allow himself to be responsible for that?

And yet, if Uther  _refused_ , Arthur would be angry and resentful at what he saw as a grave injustice. If Lancelot remained in Camelot in the face of that, he would be a constant reminder to Arthur of how badly the king had disappointed his hopes.

No... both outcomes would strain relations between father and son, causing a great deal of misunderstanding and pain. Lancelot didn't want that, especially after everything Arthur had done for him. 

_But what other choice do I have?_  he thought helplessly.  _The decision is out of my hands._

"What are they doing?" Merlin asked as he joined him.

"Deciding my fate," he responded with a shrug.

The argument inside the chamber grew louder and more heated. He was overwhelmed by a rush of guilt, even though he felt humbled and incredibly grateful that Arthur was willing to go so far on his behalf.

"They'll restore your knighthood. Of course they will. You killed the Griffin."

"But I didn't kill the Griffin." Lancelot quietly responded, mindful of any eavesdroppers. " _You_ did."

Merlin sputtered in protest. "That's ridiculous!"

"Bregdan anweald?" He gave his friend a small smile. "I heard you. I  _saw_ you."

Merlin glanced anxiously at the guards standing a few yards away, then turned back to Lancelot with eyes that were wide and full of fear.

Gentle, unassuming Merlin, who'd do anything to help a person in need. All the while, he carried an enormous secret that would likely get him killed if it were ever discovered, even by those he should've been able to trust the most. Lancelot's heart went out to him, scarcely able to imagine what it must be like to have to hide such a huge part of who he was.

Merlin had risked his life in order to use his magic for good, knowing very well he could never take credit or receive any recognition. Worse, he'd done so with the ever present knowledge that he could easily be executed as a criminal for his selfless act.

Lancelot felt humbled in the face of that realization.

"Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. But I cannot take the credit for what I did not do. There'll be no more lies, no more deceit."

Merlin frowned. "What are you going to do?"

"The only thing I  _can_ do," he said, as the solution came to him from out of nowhere.

Without another word, he made his way across the hall with several quick strides. A hard shove and the doors of the Council Chamber opened with a crash, just as two guards grabbed him roughly by the arms and attempted to drag him away.

"What is this?" Uther demanded.

 _"Let me speak!"_ he spat in frustration, struggling under their bruising grip.

"Wait!" Uther called. "I'll hear him."

The guards released him as he took a deep breath, bracing himself for the pain of what he had to do.

"Forgive me, sire," he said softly. "I've come to bid you farewell."

Arthur stared at him in bewilderment. "What is this, Lancelot?"

"I lied to you both and now there is conflict between you," he explained, somehow managing to keep his voice steady. "I cannot bear that burden, as you should not bear mine. I must start again, far from here. Then maybe one day fate shall grant me another chance to prove myself a worthy Knight of Camelot."

"But Lancelot," Arthur protested. "You've already proved that to us."

 _No, I haven't,_ he thought wistfully.  _But I will. Someday, I will._

"But I must prove it to myself," he said aloud.

Even in that bittersweet moment, it was comforting to finally be able to speak the truth. More importantly, he'd found a way to do it without revealing anything that would've endangered Merlin. The thought of leaving Camelot was almost too painful to imagine, but at least he could do so now with his head held high and his honor intact.

* * *

"You don't have to go," Merlin protested after they'd made their way back to Gaius's chamber.

Lancelot packed his battered leather satchel with a grim expression on his face, determined not to allow even the most convincing arguments to sway him from his course. Leaving was going to be hard enough on its own… better to ignore any further temptation to stay.

"Even if you can't be a knight, you could still live in Camelot. You could just stay on here with me and Gaius. I could help you find work and maybe after some time has passed, Arthur can convince his father..."

"No, Merlin," he said quietly. "I cannot. I told you, I will not take credit for your actions. It isn't right."

"I don't care about that! You  _belong_ here! You know you do! If it's just this one little thing stopping you... who cares? You'll get your knighthood back sooner or later and after that, you'll earn everything for yourself."

Lancelot gave him a searching look. "This isn't the first time you've used magic to help Arthur, is it?"

Merlin hesitated, then shook his head.

"I imagine you're used to not receiving the credit you deserve for your actions. Well, I will not make matters worse by claiming it for myself. You saved my life and were willing to allow everyone to believe that I was the hero in your stead, though I'd done nothing to deserve such an honor. While I appreciate it, I can't…"

He was startled when the other man laughed.

" _Nothing?_ Lancelot, you charged down a  _Griffin_... a monster who'd slaughtered hundreds of innocent people. You faced it on your own without knowing I had magic to help you, willing to die in the attempt to destroy it. Doesn't  _that_ make you a hero?"

He blinked in surprise, not having thought about it from that perspective. The words gave him comfort, allowing him the satisfaction of acknowledging his own bravery. Yes, at least in that sense, he'd proven he was far from being a coward. But somehow, that only made him more certain he was making the right choice.

"I'm not going to change your mind, am I?"

"I'm sorry, Merlin. This is the only path I can take."

"Where will you go?"

"I don't know," he responded, then sighed heavily. "I haven't had a chance to think about that yet."

"What about Gwen?"

 _Gwen..._  Lancelot closed his eyes and fought back a rush of pain. If leaving everything else were a punch to the gut, leaving  _her_ was like a blade to the heart. He'd been trying to put her from his mind as much as possible, afraid that if he thought about her too much, he wouldn't have the strength to do what he needed to do.

The truth was, he  _had_ to leave if he was to have any hope of ever being worthy of her.

 _She won't see it that way,_  he realized with a great deal of sadness.  _However I try to explain, she will not understand._

He couldn't leave without telling her goodbye, and yet how could he stand face to face with his heart's deepest desire, then turn and walk away from that very thing? 

"Do you have quill and parchment? I'll write her a letter. It will be much easier for me to explain."

Nodding somewhat reluctantly, Merlin got up and retrieved the items from the outer chamber. "When will you leave?" he asked as he returned. "Are you going to tell her goodbye?"

"She's probably asleep by now; I wouldn't want to disturb her. No, I'll write this and then be on my way. The longer I wait, the more difficult it will be."

"You can't!" Merlin protested. "It's after midnight and you're practically shaking with exhaustion. I understand that you feel you have to go, but please, get a few hours of rest first."

"I'm not that tired," Lancelot lied.

In truth, it had been one of the longest days he'd ever known. Given the chance, he'd love nothing more than to sleep through the night and well into the following afternoon. But he was terrified that the longer he waited, the more his resolve would weaken.

_What if I wake tomorrow and cannot do it? No, I need to leave tonight..._

"Lancelot," Merlin said quietly. "As a friend, please just promise me you won't ride until first light. Just a few hours rest. That's all I ask."

He opened his mouth to refuse, then stopped himself with a feeling of shame. It was a perfectly reasonable request, particularly after everything Merlin had done for him; it would be cruel to make him worry when it wasn't necessary.

With a resigned sigh, he agreed.

Merlin, clearly exhausted himself, stretched out on the pallet and was asleep within minutes. Lancelot smiled, realizing he couldn't even remember whether or not it was his turn for the floor.

Lighting a candle, he settled himself on the bed and began to write.

 _Dearest Guinevere,_

_I am sorry I could not tell you goodbye in person. Please know that..._

Two hours later, after several failed attempts and a few long pauses to gather his thoughts, the letter was finally completed to his satisfaction. Retrieving a small item from his satchel, the only thing of value he'd ever owned, he tucked it inside the carefully folded parchment, fixing it with the wax seal Merlin had provided.

 _For Guinevere_ , he signed above the seal, then laid it on the table next to the bed.

He was resigned to tossing and turning for the rest of the night, but it seemed his exhausted body had nothing left to give. Stretching out on his back, he almost immediately fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

All too soon, he was awake again, as bright morning sunlight poured through the window. Somehow even more weary than he'd been when he'd fallen asleep, he forced himself to rise and dress.

Following a somber breakfast with Merlin and Gaius, he accepted their embraces, carefully avoiding Merlin's attempts to distract him with aimless chatter. There was no time to delay.

He was on his way out when he hesitated, noticing the freshly polished armor that was piled by the door.

"Put it on," Merlin said softly.

 _It's yours,_  a voice inside him agreed.  _Gwen gave it to you as a gift. To leave it behind would be an insult. Put it on and ride out of Camelot with more than you came here with._

Yes, so much more... but he knew it had little to do with mail and plate, as Merlin quietly helped him don the armor. He'd learned the true meaning of friendship, honor, courage, loyalty, kindness...  _love_.

To leave that all behind? For an instant, he wavered. It was a cruel thing, knowing all the things that begged him to stay were the biggest reasons he had to go.

 _Just a little more,_ his heart pleaded, bringing a lump to his throat and weakening his resolve.

One more day... one more visit to the lower town with Merlin, chattering happily as they passed through the busy streets. One more supper shared with Gaius, smiling and laughing as they discussed the events of the day.

One more glimpse of Gwen's lovely face, one last chance to look deep into those beautiful dark eyes and lose himself. To feel her close to him just one more time, warm, sweet and soft in his arms...

 _No,_ he told himself brutally.  _If you can't do it now, you never will._

"Farewell," he said quietly, embracing Merlin one last time. "I'll send word when I can."

He would never recall passing through the palace corridors and out into the streets, nor saddling his horse and riding out of the city gates, then down the winding road that led to places unknown.

All he'd ever remember about that day would be how desperately he'd longed to stay.


	22. An Unexpected Gift

#  **Chapter 22: An Unexpected Gift**

* * *

Gwen spent the night in Morgana's chamber upon her insistence that it would be foolish to walk home at such a late hour. Curling up on the comfortable pallet she used on such occasions, she'd fallen asleep with a satisfied smile on her lips.

Lancelot was  _safe_. Lancelot was a hero. The king was sure to restore his knighthood now, wasn't he? Defeating a menace that no one, not even the Knights of Camelot and Prince Arthur himself had been able to kill? Surely that must be enough to earn Lancelot a knighthood, noble or not.

 _Arthur will speak for him if necessary,_ she'd reassured herself as she'd drifted off to sleep.

Early the following morning, she accompanied Morgana to her weekly breakfast with Arthur and the king. Performing most of the serving duties herself, she dished up fried potatoes and slices of ham, filling goblets of cider as the two men largely ignored her.

Morgana, always more courteous than the others, treated her to an occasional smile and a murmured word of thanks.

Merlin was nowhere to be seen that morning, leaving Gwen to wonder about him as she bustled back and forth, heading to the kitchens to refill a pitcher of cider. Had he overslept? If so, she felt sorry for him, imagining the lecture he was sure to receive from Arthur later that day.

"... still don't understand why he did it," she heard Uther say as she came back into the room.

Arthur gave him a sour look. "Yes, well, that's not surprising."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

This sort of bickering was far from unusual for father and son, both of whom were not exactly at their most cheerful in the mornings. Gwen tried her best to ignore the uncomfortable exchange.

"You see nothing but codes and titles," Arthur shot back, holding out his goblet for a refill without looking at Gwen. "Admit it. Even now, you cannot see the honor in Lancelot. After all he was willing to sacrifice, you still..."

Gwen dropped the tray of napkins she was holding, wincing as it fell to the floor with a loud clatter. Hastily, she knelt to clean up the mess with a mumbled apology. Uther shot her an annoyed look, then turned back to Arthur and resumed the conversation.

"The man lied, Arthur," he said sternly. "And you talk of honor?"

"He only  _lied_ because your ridiculous codes left him no other choice!"

"I'm not having this conversation again! The man  _chose_ to leave Camelot, and before you blame me for that, he did so of his own volition. I did not banish him, though I probably should have. I issued him a pardon and for  _you_ , I might add. I will hear no more of this!"

 _Lancelot... gone?_ Gwen began to tremble.  _No..._ She struggled to compose herself, forgetting all about the cider she was pouring until the goblet in Morgana's hand overflowed, staining the sleeve of her white silk gown.

"Morgana, what is wrong with your maid today? Perhaps we need to find you a suitable replacement."

"No, sire. It's just... Gwen isn't feeling well, that's all. Poor girl is so loyal that she insisted on trying to work through her illness, when she should be home in bed. She's an excellent servant, truly. If you'll excuse us... Gwen? Come and help me change, then you must retire to your home and get some rest."

Uther nodded, waving his hand dismissively as the women hurried from the room.

"Thank you, my lady," Gwen said as they made their way down the corridor. "For covering for me, I mean. I'm sorry about your gown... I'll help you undress and put it in a bucket to soak."

"Don't apologize. You just saved me from having to listen to the two of them bickering all morning. Besides, I've never liked this dress much anyway."

She nodded as they reached Morgana's chamber. "What would you like to wear? The purple velvet, perhaps? It looks lovely on you, and it is a bit chilly today."

"Gwen..." Morgana said softly. "How much did you hear?"

"I heard that he's gone. What else is there to say?"

Gone, and he hadn't even told her goodbye. Not by the king's orders. Not because he'd been banished and had had no choice but to leave immediately. It had been his own decision… but why? 

With a great deal of effort, Gwen swallowed the lump in her throat and busied herself unfastening Morgana's gown.

_I'll think about it later, after I've had a chance to speak with Merlin. I'll wait until I'm alone. Then I'll feel... I'll cry... whatever I need to do. But not here. Not now._

"I'm here if you want to talk about it," Morgana said gently. "When you're ready."

"Thank you," she murmured. "Later, perhaps."

She helped Morgana change, put the dress in a bucket to soak, changed the bedding, and went to scrub the window.  _I have to stay busy,_ she told herself firmly.  _I mustn't cry._

But then she looked out the slightly smudged window, spotting the lone figure riding down the winding road that led away from Camelot.

 _Lancelot..._  she'd know the proud tilt of his head anywhere. He rode in full armor, swift and sure, eyes focused straight on the road ahead. Not once did he turn back to glance at the city he was leaving behind.

And all she could do was watch helplessly as he rode out of her life, wondering why he hadn't said goodbye... and why he didn't hesitate, even for a second. Was it so easy to leave it all behind?

"Gwen?"

She struggled to push away her dismal thoughts, turning to Morgana as she somehow managed a small smile.

"Lancelot?"

"Oh... yes," she said, doing her best to sound dismissive. She wasn't ready to share her feelings just yet... not when she could barely face them herself. Avoiding Morgana's penetrating gaze, she hoped the other woman wouldn't press her further.

"Come, Gwen. We've a busy day ahead."

Following that, she was kept occupied with an endless succession of tasks. She wouldn't have had time to think even if she'd wanted to, rushing through all her normal duties, then tackling each of the increasingly bizarre chores that were assigned for her.

"Here," Morgana said, handing her a list as she flashed a brilliant smile. "Could you retrieve a few items from the lower town for me?"

Most of the items were typical beauty treatments – jasmine soap, milk and honey cream for her face, the herbal concoction women used to remove unwanted hair from their bodies. But some of the other things on the list... where on earth was she supposed to find a toy horse with a flowing black mane? And what would Morgana even do with such a thing?

 _She's running out of ideas,_  Gwen realized with a touch of amusement as she made her way out into the corridor. Bless her... it was probably as much work to come up with so many extra tasks as it was to perform them.

"Oh, sorry!"

"Gwen," Merlin said with a small laugh, kneeling to retrieve the basket she'd dropped when she'd bumped into him. "It's all right. I was actually coming down here to find you." Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, he pulled out a thick letter. "From Lancelot."

At those words, suppressed disappointment transformed into a sort of wild hope. She clung to the letter like a lifeline, staring at Merlin in both amazement and relief.

"I thought... I thought he didn't want to tell me goodbye."

"Guinevere, you know Lancelot better than that. Go on and read it when you have the time. As for me, Arthur is going to have my hide if I don't meet him at the training grounds soon. If you'll excuse me..."

The rest of the day was torturous. Morgana's senseless busy work ceased to be a needed escape, becoming an endless succession of wearisome tasks designed to keep her from the only thing she desperately wanted to do.

 _What does the letter say?_  she wondered throughout the afternoon, reaching into her pocket from time to time to reassure herself it was real.

By the time early evening arrived, she was yawning hugely whenever she caught Morgana looking in her direction. It wasn't difficult to fake sleepiness... she  _was_ tired after the day's constant activity.

Sleep was the last thing on her mind however, as she was finally dismissed, practically running all the way home and then shutting the door behind her with a sigh of relief.

Alone at long last, she reached into the pocket of her apron, pulling out the folded parchment Merlin had given her.  _For Guinevere,_ the outside read. The handwriting was simple, straightforward and bold, rather like Lancelot himself.

With trembling hands, Gwen broke the seal, scrambling to catch a small object as it slid through her fingers. She knelt to pick it up, holding it to the light of the candle with a gasp of amazement.

Suspended on a delicate silver chain, the pendant twinkled and glittered with precious jewels. Amethysts, she knew from all her years of caring for Morgana's jewelry. Dozens of tiny amethysts, interspersed with sapphires, made up the petals of the flower shaped medallion. The leaves were dotted with emeralds, delicate silver vines woven all around the shimmering blossom.

Of course, it was smaller and more simple than the jewels the ladies of the court liked to wear. To Gwen, however, it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

_How did Lancelot...?_

Seating herself at the table, she clutched the necklace tightly in one hand as she began to read the letter.

_Dearest Guinevere,_

_I am sorry I could not tell you goodbye in person. Please know that leaving Camelot... leaving **you** , is the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Even now, my heart begs for another option, even as my mind knows this is my only choice._

_I know Arthur understands my reasons for the deception and is willing to look past my error in judgment. Were I to stay, he would champion my cause. But it is not enough. The king will not forgive, and I cannot be the cause of strife between them._

_All my life, all I've ever wanted was to devote my skills to honorable service. But having to deceive or cause conflict among those I care for is not honorable at all, no matter how pure my intentions might be. I would not be able to bear the guilt and shame._

_That is why I must go. I must find another way to prove myself, so that one day I might have a chance to return and serve the way I was always meant to do – with loyalty, truth and honor._

_Gwen, I wish I could tell you everything that is in my heart. I cannot begin to express how much you've come to mean to me or the gratitude I feel... not only for your help and generosity, but for every moment we've shared since the moment we met._

_I will not make pledges and promises, nor ask any such vow from you. It would not be fair when the future is so uncertain and I cannot even begin to say when I might see you again. I make no demands on you, nor would I presume to stake a claim on your future... not when I have so little to offer in return._

_For now, I can only leave you with the most precious possession I own._

_When I was a boy, my mother wore this necklace. I asked her once how she'd come to own something so lovely, being as my family was of the most humble origins._

_"Your father won it in a card game at the tavern the night before we married," she told me. "He bet his cottage and land, as well as five years of servitude in exchange."_

_"Why?" I asked. It was difficult to understand why anyone would risk so much for a piece of jewelry._

_I remember my mother smiling as she explained. "Your father knew he'd never be able to give me more than a lifetime of hard work, with only the barest necessities as a reward. He wanted me to have something beautiful... just one thing that was only for me."_

_When I commented that he'd been very brave to risk so much, my mother replied by telling me he was a damn fool. I remember thinking that was a terrible thing for her to say, until she told me that was why she loved him._

_Gwen, I'm an even bigger fool than my father was, because a single token could never be enough to make me feel worthy of you. I'd never presume to ask for your heart unless I had so much more to offer than what I am in this moment._

_Do not wait for me. Do not put your life on hold or sacrifice even a moment of happiness for my sake. If it is our fate to find one another again someday, I have to believe we will._

_Until then, keep this as a token of my affections and know that I will carry the memory of you in my heart wherever I may travel in all the days to come._

_With love, Lancelot_


	23. Survival

#  **Chapter 23: Survival**

* * *

Lancelot brought his horse to a standstill on the bank of a small, swift running river. The thickly wooded inlet was surrounded by dense vegetation that sheltered it from the worst of the chill wind, and there was even a patch of decent grazing at the water's edge, grass still green despite the cooling temperatures.

Satisfied, he dismounted and began to set up camp.

How long had it been since he'd left Camelot? He could no longer remember, having counted the first fifteen days or so before giving it up as a worthless endeavor. It didn't matter; time had become a meaningless blur as he'd traveled without purpose or destination.

Days blended into weeks, weeks turned into months... he tried not to think about time anymore. He did his best not to think at all, which wasn't so difficult as it became all he could do just to survive.

He'd traveled to Camelot in high summer, sleeping under the stars on warm, balmy nights, comfortable and well fed from the substantial provisions he'd brought along in his battered satchel. It hadn't even rained during his journey.

Leaving had been something else entirely.

Lancelot had stayed at roadside taverns in the beginning, paid for with the silver coins he'd found wrapped in a frayed blue scarf at the bottom of his satchel. He'd passed a couple of weeks that way, thinking of nothing beyond reaching his next destination, then drinking as much ale as it took to chase away his regrets.

Nights had been spent in a miserable drunken haze, followed by days of blinding sun and splitting headaches. He hadn't wanted to feel anything... to crave the warm glow of contentment he'd known in Camelot or face the dismal world he was beginning to discover lay outside its walls. No, he'd just wanted to lose himself.

If he'd been a rich man, he was sure he would've drank himself to death during those first few weeks. Of course, if he were a rich man, he would've never have found himself in such a hopeless situation to begin with.

In the end, his small supply of coins had run out, and he'd come out of his ale induced stupor with more anger than he'd ever felt in his life. Much of his rage had been directed at Uther for devaluing him over a circumstance of birth, then leaving him no other choice but to walk away from everything he'd ever wanted.

But more than anything, he'd been furious with himself. Day after day, he'd replayed his time in Camelot in his head, tortured by a dozen ways things might have gone differently if he'd made wiser choices. Uther might've been a bastard about the whole ordeal, but that would've never happened if Lancelot hadn't offered up the means to hurt him on a silver platter.

Past regrets had begun to matter less and less, however, as his immediate reality had become increasingly desperate.

Without a copper to his name, there was no other choice than to sleep outdoors. Summer had passed, the chill of the autumn air creeping into his bones a little more each night as he huddled beneath his cloak, shivering beside tiny campfires that gave off nothing more than a hint of warmth. Unless he was fortunate enough to come across a cave or an uninhabited dwelling, there was no shelter from the elements.

The constant, gnawing hunger in his belly was the hardest part of all. Game was growing more scarce as winter set in and without a crossbow or coin to purchase one, hunting was a hopeless endeavor anyway. Fruits and berries became increasingly rare, and fish that might have been speared began to migrate to deeper waters.

On this night, Lancelot roasted a handful of nuts and devoured them ravenously as he sat before the fire, trying to ignore his stomach's incessant demands for something more substantial. He couldn't go on for much longer this way, he realized as he stared moodily into the flames. There were months of winter ahead, and it already felt like he was slowly starving to death. But what else could he do?

He'd tried to find work as a laborer, stopping at farms and villages to offer his services. "I'll do  _anything_ ," he'd practically begged in his desperation. "I don't require payment, only food and shelter. Please, there must be something..."

Again and again, doors had been closed in his face. Some had been polite and regretful, others downright nasty, but the end result was the same – there was no work to be had. Either the farmers and craftsmen had already taken on all the laborers they needed for the winter, or they couldn't afford workers at all.

Lancelot had eventually realized that kingdom was filled with men like him… men from humble origins with nothing more than a strong back to offer. The only thing that set him apart was his skill in combat, but what use was that to him now? He'd devoted his entire life to the dream of becoming a knight, never developing any other skill that might've been helpful in his current situation.

He knew how to harvest crops, muck out stables, chop wood, repair buildings, and mend fences, which were the basic tasks every boy who'd grown up in a poor village knew how to perform. Beyond that, he was useless.

 _What a fool I've been,_  he thought helplessly. What exactly had he thought he was going to do when he left Camelot? Travel the kingdom like a knight errant, slaying mythical beasts and rescuing damsels in distress while noble men showered him with gold for his brave deeds? Was that how he'd intended to prove himself a worthy Knight of Camelot? 

_I've wasted my entire life on dreams. I know nothing of what it means to live in the world as it truly is... not the way I'd like it to be._

He nearly groaned in pain as his stomach growled again, his insides practically convulsing with a wave of hunger that left him shaky and faint. Curling up on his side beneath his threadbare cloak, he contemplated the only two options left to him.

_I must either sell my armor or my horse unless I want to starve. I can hardly bear the thought of parting with either, but there's no other choice._

Exhausted and famished, he closed his eyes and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

* * *

"More chicken, my lady?" Gwen offered with a smile.

Morgana waved the fragrant platter away. "No, thank you, I'm stuffed! If I don't stop now, I'll never be able to fit into that new gown."

"I've been using the same measurements to create your dresses for the past four years, and after how many banquets and feasts? I really don't think you need to be concerned over an extra helping of chicken."

"Perhaps," she conceded, letting out a merry laugh. "But Lord Lionel is in the city to attend the celebrations tomorrow night. You must forgive me if I'm more concerned with my appearance than usual."

Morgana usually divided her attentions between two handsome knights who lived in the palace, but no other man existed for her when Lord Lionel visited Camelot. Tall, lean and fierce, with a thick fall of dark blond hair and piercing green eyes, most of the ladies of the court were set aflutter whenever he was near.

He only had eyes for Morgana, however, and Gwen was of the belief that the relationship would've been much more serious if he were around more frequently.

"My lady, I'm sure you'll take his breath away like you always do. After all, what man can resist you?"

 _Other than Lancelot, of course,_ she thought wistfully as she touched the small medallion. Though she wore it well hidden, wrapped around her wrist like a bracelet beneath the sleeve of her dress, she hadn't taken it off since the night she'd read his letter for the first time.

"Thinking about him again?"

"H-how did you know?"

"The dreamy look on your face. I've seen that expression a hundred times over these past few months, Gwen. I may not have said anything, but that doesn't mean I haven't noticed."

It was true. Morgana hadn't spoken of Lancelot since the day he'd left Camelot and neither had Gwen, choosing to deal with her feelings privately instead. Part of her had longed to talk about it, but it was all so confusing. For the first few weeks, it had seemed as if she'd had a different emotion every five minutes. Difficult enough to deal with on her own, much less try to explain to someone else.

She'd read his letter several times a day at first, comforted by every word that made it abundantly clear how much he cared for her. And every night, she'd slept with the blue homespun shirt he'd left at her house the morning she'd helped him into his new clothes and armor.

Traces of his scent still lingered in the unwashed fabric, clean, masculine, and utterly delicious. Night after night, she'd crawl into bed and bury her face in the shirt's folds, closing her eyes and inhaling the addictive scent until she could almost pretend he was right there beside her.

Vividly, she'd remember being wrapped in his arms, strong hands gently caressing her back as she'd melted into the heat of his body. Chills would dance up and down her spine as she tasted the memory of his kisses, lips soft and sweetly intoxicating, then hard and hungry as they'd evoked a desperate longing deep inside her... pleasure she'd never felt before she'd met him.

She'd been deeply embarrassed the first time she'd touched herself beneath the blankets, abashed at the moans and whimpers she couldn't seem to silence. It had been impossible to stop, however, as delicious heat had coiled within her and she'd brought herself to her first climax, gasping in shock as the world had exploded around her.

Embarrassing or not, it became a regular occurrence, giving herself over to one delicious exploration after another as she pictured how much more blissful those things might be with Lancelot beside her. She'd forget all about the rest of the world as she imagined his hands all over her body, fingers so much stronger and rougher than her own. Lancelot... holding her eyes with his intense gaze, then ravaging her mouth with deep kisses...

Gwen had known the basics since she'd had her first courses, when an older maid had been kind enough to explain what went on between a man and a woman. She'd heard bits and pieces here and there after that, conversations that were whispered among the palace staff when there was no one around to reprimand them.

But she hadn't  _known_... the craving, the hunger, the  _pleasure_. If the rest of it was anywhere near as intoxicating as the little she'd experienced on her own, she found it difficult to understand how people managed to get out of bed at all.

"Gwen, you're blushing," Morgana said, bringing her swiftly back to the present. "Why are you blushing?"

"It's nothing, my lady," she responded with what she hoped was a passable attempt at a smile. "I'm sorry, I just haven't been ready to talk about... you know."

In truth, exploring her physical reactions to Lancelot had been easy, a pleasurable and welcome distraction. But the feelings in her heart were much too complicated to even begin to sort them out.

On one hand, he'd made it clear that he had serious feelings for her. Considering she felt the same, it only made sense to simply be patient until he returned, no matter how long it might take. She couldn't imagine any other man affecting her the way he did... nor did she want to.

But he'd told her  _not_ to wait for him. What did that mean? Was he afraid he might decide he wanted a different life? Worried that perhaps one of them might find someone else? Was he unsure his feelings would last? Or did he just not want her to wait around for him, fearing she'd be wasting her life if he  _couldn't_ return?

It didn't matter, since there was nothing she could do to change her feelings anyway. There was no denying her longing for him, no changing the way she worried about him dozens of times throughout the day.  _Where is he? Is he safe? Is he happy? Will he send word when he can? When will I see him again? Does he miss me? Does he think of me as much as I think of him?_

Nearly four months since he'd left and he was never far from her thoughts.

"I understand if you're still not ready to talk about it," Morgana said, interrupting her musings again. "You don't ever have to, if that's what you'd prefer. But I'm your friend, Gwen. I just want you to know that I'm here if you need me."

_I'm your friend..._

Morgana wasn't just her friend… Gwen trusted her more than anyone else in the world. Why had she been shutting her out so much since Lancelot had left Camelot? Beyond the fact that Morgana certainly deserved the truth, she was tired of keeping such an important part of her life to herself.

Unsure of how to begin, she pushed back her sleeve, watching the other woman's eyes grow wide as the tiny jewels twinkled in the candlelit chamber.

"Lancelot left a letter for me..."


	24. What Must Be Done

#  **Chapter 24: What Must Be Done**

* * *

Gwen came to Lancelot in his dreams, surrounded by a hazy golden glow that seemed to chase the chill from the night air. His shivering began to subside and he slept more peacefully beneath the canopy of trees, soothed by memories of her soft, warm body in his arms.

He'd dreamed of her just about every night since leaving Camelot, recalling all the moments they'd shared in his unconscious mind. Longing looks and tender words, the texture of her skin as he'd kissed her hand, followed by the even sweeter softness of her lips as they'd met his for the first time.

Reliving that kiss again and again, he always marveled over how quickly her timidity had transformed into a hungry passion that matched his own. He could only wish...

No, it was pointless to wish anymore.

Thinking of her during his waking hours was always bittersweet. Pleasurable memories of holding her only made his empty arms ache with longing. Remembering the way she'd gazed up at him with her luminous dark eyes reminded him of just how dismal his world was without her.

As the months passed, thoughts of her were accompanied by the bleak realization that life was carrying him further away from any hope of seeing her again. It became increasingly difficult to trust in the future, to believe in fate or destiny as he once had. All he knew anymore was cold, hunger, and emptiness as he struggled to survive in a brutal world where he felt lost and utterly alone.

Only in his dreams did he find comfort, where memories of her were recollections of the sweetest kind, never followed by the hopeless reality of their indefinite separation.

He looked forward to falling asleep every night, just as he dreaded waking the following morning. Sometimes he wished he could sleep forever just to stay with her in his mind, but something always compelled him to rise and face another day.

But this time, his dream shifted; he was prostrate on his knees in the Council Chamber, while the king stared down at him in cold contempt.

"Take everything he has of any value," Uther spat coldly.

Yes, Uther had taken it all with his ridiculous codes and unbending judgments. Hopes and dreams, honor and dignity, faith and friends and love... a home and a life of purpose in Camelot. He'd stripped it away and worst of all, Lancelot had brought it on himself.

"Take the horse and the armor. Both seem to be of excellent quality. The sword, too, and whatever's in that bag. Take it, then kill him," Uther growled in a voice that didn't sound like Uther at all.

Lancelot stirred as Arthur appeared in his mind, looking as if he meant to protest.  _Yes,_  he thought with a great deal of comfort. _Arthur will speak for me. He will not allow the king to..._

But when Arthur opened his mouth to speak, all that came out was the nervous whinny of a frightened horse.

_What...?_

He was jolted into consciousness by an explosion of pain as a booted foot landed a brutal kick to his midsection. Gasping for air, he curled into a defensive position, raising his arms to shield his head as the stranger kicked him again and again, grunting in pain and confusion as he weakly attempted to fend off the blows.

"Ah, that's no fun, Ratface," spoke a voice from somewhere behind him. "Get him on his feet and let's see what he's made of."

The next thing Lancelot knew, rough, bruising hands were lifting him from the ground. He staggered a little as he found his footing, weakness and shock causing his knees to buckle before he managed to steady himself.

He was surrounded by five rough looking men clothed in ratty skins, filthy leathers and oddly mismatched bits of armor. The man who'd kicked him really  _did_  look like a rat, he noticed in vague amusement, tiny beady eyes and a narrow pointed nose set in a fleshy face. Even his teeth were rodent like – long, yellow and protruding over his fat lower lip.

Some reaction to the comical sight must have shown in Lancelot's expression, as Ratface suddenly gave a furious growl and punched him in the face with a meaty fist. Stunned by the blow, he fell heavily to the ground and lay still.

"Right," he heard another man speak as if from a great distance. "Ratface, Bull, you two stay here. Have your fun, then finish him off. Catch up when you're done. Snake and Buzzard, with me."

 _Don't any of these fools have real names?_  Lancelot wondered as he struggled to his knees, trying to clear his vision as he looked around for anything he might be able to use as a weapon.  _I refuse to die at the hands of a man called Ratface. I still have_ some _dignity left._

His sword was beyond his reach, already being led away on the back of his horse along with his armor and the rest of his possessions. Trying not to despair, he spied a thick, sturdy branch a few feet away and began to crawl toward it.

"Look!" Bull said with a loud guffaw that rumbled deep in his massive chest. "Seems our friend here means to put up a fight!"

Ratface echoed his laughter. "Ah, let him have it. That scrap of kindling won't amount to much once we give him a taste of your mace and my daggers."

"How about it, skinny man?" Bull taunted, looking very much like his namesake as his eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared with excitement. "Looks like you haven't eaten in weeks. Hungry for a bit of my steel in your belly?"

Lancelot was on his feet now, branch gripped steadily in both hands as he moved into a familiar sparring position. He didn't respond to the baiting, just fixed the man with a quiet, unwavering stare.

Ratface let out a mocking laugh. "Fancy yourself a swordsman, eh? Mighty brave of you, but I'm afraid it'll do you little good, boy. You're about to learn what it's like to fight  _real_  men. We'll have you carved up like a pig in a butcher's shop by the time we're done with you."

Unable to help himself, Lancelot lifted an eyebrow. "If you're such impressive fighters, why does it require two of you to take on an unarmed man?"

Bull's face grew red with fury at the insult as he stepped forward, brandishing his mace. But Ratface just chuckled, holding out a restraining hand to stop his friend. "Lippy one, aren't you? Hell, you'll end up dead either way, so it makes no difference to us. One at a time it is – who do you want to fight first?"

"I don't care."

"How about Bull then? I've already had a crack at you; might as well give him a turn."

Lancelot nodded imperceptibly, his eyes narrowing as the man moved forward, baring his teeth and whirling his mace above his balding head. Without a flicker of movement, he waited, sizing up his opponent as the other man growled a menacing warning and swung.

The heavy ball of the mace flew harmlessly through empty air as Lancelot sidestepped on nimble feet, bringing his stick around in a wide arc that slammed into Bull's fleshy midsection with a heavy thud. The larger man gave a surprised grunt as he doubled over in pain.

Without hesitation, he brought his knee up in a lightning quick movement, hearing the crunch of bone as the brutal blow connected with Bull's face. The other man spit out blood and a couple of teeth when he lifted his head, roaring in fury as he swung his mace again.

Swing and miss, swing and miss. The blows were wild and poorly aimed, the product of uncontrolled rage rather than the careful calculations of a skilled warrior. Lancelot danced aside easily, almost pitying the man's ineptitude as his own strikes connected with meaty flesh.

_He's as well named as his companion. Just like a bull, he's big and stupid, all temper and no common sense._

A bull was predictable and easy to avoid. Such was not the case for a rat. A rat was silent and sneaky, creeping around unseen and using all sorts of devious tricks to fool his opponents when they were at their most unsuspecting.

Ratface came up from behind, catching Lancelot off guard as a dagger sliced through the air. Managing to avoid the cut intended for his chest, the knife nicked his arm instead.  _So much for the honor of single combat,_  he thought in disgust as blood spilled from the wound.

There was barely time to take a couple swift steps backward before both men fell upon him. Completely on the defensive now, he weaved and danced, trying to avoid both mace swings and dagger strikes. Ratface was quicker and more accurate than his companion, but Lancelot quickly picked up on the predictable pattern of his movements and dodged them all.

Managing to temporarily stun Bull with another blow to the midsection followed by one across the back of the neck, he anticipated Ratface's next strike and brought his stick down on the man's forearm with a mighty crack. The dagger flew out of his hand, landing on the ground a few feet away.

Lancelot scrambled desperately for the weapon, falling to his hands and knees as Bull recovered and slammed into him with an impressive amount of force. Ratface grabbed at his ankles, attempting to drag him backward before he could reach the fallen dagger. With an angry grunt, Lancelot drove his heel forcefully into the other man's face with a satisfying crunch.

His fingers closed around steel, cool and sweetly familiar. Perhaps the blade wasn't the sword he would've preferred, but the fight had turned in his favor nonetheless.

Crouching on the ground and panting heavily, he clutched the dagger and fixed his opponents with a cold, unwavering stare. Steady and determined, he waited.

Bull was the first to fall. The huge, lumbering man rushed forward somewhat clumsily, falling to the ground with a heavy thud as Lancelot drove the dagger into his upper thigh. He lay on his back, struggling to rise as the fury in his eyes was replaced by helpless panic.

Had he been fighting according to the knight's code, Lancelot would have placed his weapon to Bull's chest and compelled him to yield. This was no melee or friendly sparring match, however, nothing that resembled honorable combat. This was a fight for his survival. Honor would not protect him here, nor could he allow it to shield his opponents. Kill or be killed. Do what must be done.

Sucking in a deep breath, he jerked the man's head back by his sparse hair and cut his throat.

He'd killed his first man.

There was no time to dwell on that, however, as Ratface pulled a second dagger from his boot and fell upon him with a flurry of stabs and slices. Blinded by fury and screaming in rage, his aim was poor, causing no more damage than the occasional shallow cut.

Lancelot twisted to the side to avoid the assault, thrusting his own dagger upward and burying it in the other man's chest with all the strength he had left.

Ratface's eyes widened. He mumbled something incomprehensible, then shuddered and grew still.

The clearing was silent, deafeningly so in the aftermath of the fight. At first, Lancelot couldn't even hear the whispering of wind in the trees or the soft rushing water of the river behind him. He stared at the bloodied bodies with a sort of detached exhaustion, drained, weak and shaky now that the adrenaline of combat had passed.

_I've killed them. I killed them... and I don't regret it._

After giving himself a moment to recover a bit of strength, he rose and walked to the river's edge. Not only was he painfully thirsty, but the stink of blood was beginning to invade his nostrils and he needed to clean his wounds.

The still water gave off a clear reflection and at first, he thought someone had snuck up behind him. He started to reach for the bloodied dagger he'd tucked into the waistband of his trousers, before realizing with a great deal of shock that he was looking at an image of himself.

The man staring back at him bore no resemblance to the one who'd departed from Camelot all those months before. No, that man had ridden out in shining armor and a fine silk cloak, freshly shaved, groomed, and well fed, eyes still boyishly hopeful despite his recent disappointments.

But the stranger before him now was another person entirely. Gone was the slender, yet healthy physique that had once been his, replaced by a gaunt figure that seemed to be held together by muscle and sinew alone.

His dark hair hung past his shoulders now, limp and matted with dirt. A full beard covered the lower half of his face, thick and scraggly, and his skin had turned a deeper bronze from endless hours spent in the sun. There was nothing soft in his reflection anymore, the last remnants of boyhood having faded from his face, leaving nothing but hard planes and angles in their wake.

The most shocking change of all, however, was the look in his eyes. Eyes that had once been soft and gentle were now hard and hungry, devoid of hope and full of some grim emotion he couldn't quite put his finger on. Resignation, perhaps?

It didn't matter. His shabby appearance and filthy, bloodstained clothing would have to wait. He could only linger for a few minutes at most before he'd have to be on his way. The dead men's companions would be growing suspicious soon; he hoped to be long gone before they returned. There was no way he had enough strength left in him to fight one man, let alone three.

Washing as best as he could manage, it was a relief to discover that most of the blood was not his own. The few cuts he'd received were relatively shallow, and although the bruises that were beginning to appear on his face and midsection were painful to the touch, they were nothing to be concerned about.

He'd bathe properly and wash his only remaining clothing later. For now, he contented himself with clean hands and face, along with a long drink of water.

The other men had ridden south, so he'd follow the river north, keeping to the trees to remain out of sight. He started to turn back to retrieve his satchel, only to remember that all his possessions were gone.

Cursing under his breath, he wondered if there had been any point to surviving the fight at all. Perhaps it would've been better if he'd allowed the men to kill him. At least that would have been a quick death, rather than the slow starvation that gnawed at his belly like a vicious animal.

He'd been resigned to having to sell his horse or his armor in order to feed himself, but now, he didn't have a possession in the world to barter.

Glancing at the stiffening bodies, he took a deep breath and walked across the clearing, kneeling down to rifle through their pockets.

 _A knight never fights for profit, nor does he pillage his fallen opponents,_  he suddenly remembered from those codes he'd memorized by heart so many years before.  _To do so is the height of shame and dishonor._

" _Damn_  your bloody codes!"

It was all well and good to live by codes if one was the son of some noble lord, never lacking for resources to keep his belly full and a roof over his head. Men like that could look down on plunder while devouring grand feasts, criticizing the idea of profit as they slept in the soft, warm beds that came along with their privileged status. What the hell did they know?

No, he would  _not_ feel guilty over this. If dying was the alternative to taking from men who had no further need of whatever coin they might be carrying. Codes meant  _nothing_ in the face of starvation... especially when they came from a world that barely existed for him anymore.

Bull's pockets were empty, but he found a small leather pouch hidden in Ratface's trousers. It was heavy, which was a good sign. He untied the drawstring and turned it upside down, gasping in disbelief as a handful of gold coins spilled out across his open palm.


	25. Journey to Ealdor

#  **Chapter 25: Journey to Ealdor**

* * *

As Gwen rode beside her friends on that brisk winter afternoon, she couldn't help but feel a rush of exhilaration. She hadn't ventured more than a few miles outside of Camelot's walls in years, having forgotten the thrill of traveling to places unknown. 

It was only when she glanced back at Hunith that she gave herself a guilty shake, determined to quell her enthusiasm.

 _Our mission is to help the people of Ealdor,_  she reminded herself sternly. This journey had nothing to do with her own pleasure.

Merlin's mother was a lovely woman, warm, humble and kind… someone to which assistance should have been offered without question. Every time Gwen glanced over at her, wincing in sympathy when she saw the large welt on her cheek, she felt another stab of resentment toward the king for refusing to intervene in her hour of need.

 _Uther has so much power,_ she'd thought to herself in frustration as Hunith had fallen to her knees in the Council Chamber, injured, frightened, and pleading for help.  _He could find a way to protect these people if he truly wanted to. I know he could. How can anyone be so heartless?_

Worse, Arthur hadn't even  _tried_ to change his father's mind. Gwen had been surprisingly disappointed in him for that. She'd expected better of him, having seen his acts of kindness toward Merlin, Lancelot, and even herself in the past. Despite his arrogance, she'd truly believed there was a strong sense of justice somewhere inside him. So why had he stood by and done  _nothing?_

As night fell, the group stopped to make camp. Merlin cared for the horses as his mother prepared supper, humming quietly to herself as she worked. Gwen felt uncomfortable as she sat beside Morgana, unaccustomed to remaining idle while others saw to her needs. She offered to help several times, but Hunith wouldn't hear of it.

"It's the least I can do to repay you and the Lady Morgana for your support," she insisted. "Please, rest. You must be tired."

After supper, Gwen followed Morgana's lead as the other woman yawned hugely and pleaded exhaustion from the day's exertions. She wasn't the least bit tired herself, but her body ached from hours spent in the saddle; it felt heavenly to stretch out and relax.

Morgana mumbled a drowsy "good night" and dozed off almost immediately while Gwen lay wide awake, gazing at the stars as she listened to the sound of soft, deep breathing beside her.

 _Will I die tomorrow?_  she wondered.  _Will we all be cut down like those poor villagers who've already been lost?_

She'd only faced the threat of death once, when Uther had falsely condemned her as a witch the year before. That had been a terrifying experience, praying for salvation as she'd waited in a cold, miserable dungeon cell, desperate to escape her fate. 

What she felt now was entirely different.

She still didn't  _want_ to die… but the idea of losing her life in an attempt to defend what was right was much less frightening than the possibility of being executed for a crime she'd never committed in the first place.

At that thought, she began to understand what drove knights and soldiers to bravely risk their lives in the service of others. The idea of standing by and allowing tragedy to unfold when she might be able to help was unimaginable, just as it must be for them.

It was something she'd barely thought about while safe in Camelot, a kingdom that was faithfully defended by men who'd spent a lifetime training for combat... men who shielded humble people like herself from ever having to face any real danger.

Now, however, there were no defenses to protect her, no soldiers to rely upon. It was only Gwen and two of her dearest friends, heading out to face a brutal enemy. It should've been terrifying; instead, it felt strangely exhilarating.

The idea that  _she_ might be able to fight for justice while relying on her own physical strength to do so was something she'd never considered before. Whether she survived or not, knowing that it might be within her power to protect those who were even less capable of defending themselves than she was... 

_This must be how Lancelot felt,_ she mused to herself as her eyelids grew heavy. It was no wonder he'd wanted to be a knight, imagining how much he could do to make the world a better place with his considerable skill. She could only hope he'd found another way to fulfill that dream somehow, and that he was safe and happy, wherever he happened to be.

* * *

It was with some surprise and a great deal of guilt that she awoke the following morning to find Arthur sleeping beside the fire. The others moved quietly around the campsite, packing saddlebags and feeding horses as they allowed him to sleep up until the moment of departure.

"Followed our trail for half the night," Merlin whispered in explanation, giving the unconscious prince a look of gratitude and open affection. "He's here to help."

Arthur must've known the king would've never provided assistance, no matter what he might have said in protest. He'd decided to defy him instead, willing to put his life on the line to help protect Merlin's home. More than that, he was acting without the protection of his knights, and all because he refused to turn a blind eye to injustice.

 _I've judged him too harshly,_  she thought to herself with a great deal of shame. Only a truly noble man would risk so much for the sake of a servant, with no possible reward for himself other than knowing he'd done what was right.

In that moment, she resolved to stop jumping to unfair conclusions where Arthur was concerned. It was the least he deserved in light of such a selfless act.

* * *

As they came in sight of the seemingly peaceful village later that morning, the illusion was immediately shattered by the sound of panicked screams in the distance. Without a word, Arthur nudged his horse into a full gallop and tore across the open fields, leaving the others no choice but to follow his wild pursuit.

Ealdor was in chaos when they arrived, villagers struggling in vain against the violent onslaught of the looters who were making off with the last of their food supply. Gwen watched in awe as Arthur swung down from his horse in one fluid motion and came to blows with his first opponent.

He was soon joined by Merlin, who struggled awkwardly with his weapon, yet somehow managed to hold off several attackers. Morgana quickly dismounted and followed with her own sword in hand, making up for the years of training she lacked with fearlessness and natural grace.

All Gwen could do was stand beside Hunith, watching in horror as men and women alike were brutally shoved aside or cut down by the cruel raiders. She'd never seen anything so vicious in her life, nor even imagined such a thing. Her experience of combat up until that moment had been little more than the tournaments and friendly training sessions she'd witnessed back in Camelot.

What was happening in front of her bore no resemblance to an honorable fight. No, these were men who obviously enjoyed killing for the sake of it... men who seemed to go out of their way to cause as much suffering as possible. She watched helplessly as a hulking, bearded figure dressed in filthy skins rode down an unarmed woman, shouting gleefully as a blow to the back sent her sprawling into the dirt.

 _How can anyone be so cruel?_  she thought angrily, her disgust at the injustice overcoming her fear. In that moment, she would've gladly joined the fight if she'd had a weapon at her disposal.

The bandits were brutal in their attack, though it soon became obvious they didn't have enough men to battle a resistance they clearly hadn't expected. Riding away as swiftly as they'd come, they spat in derision and shouted all manners of curses and threats in their wake.

 _Bloody cowards,_  Gwen swore to herself with unaccustomed venom. They'd come here to attack defenseless villagers, not to fight anyone who actually had the power to stand up to their tyranny.

"I know Kanen's kind," Arthur announced as soon as the enemy was out of sight, looking over the listeners with an expression that was determined yet compassionate. "He'll be back. And when he is, you must be ready for him. First of all, we have to prepare for..."

His words were interrupted as a young man wearing a hostile expression pushed his way to the front of the small crowd. "Am I the only one wondering who the hell this is?"

* * *

"I don't understand why that man was so angry," Morgana remarked a few hours later as she and Gwen sat with Hunith in her tiny kitchen. "Everyone else seemed grateful for the help, eager to defend their homes. But he treated Arthur like he was the enemy. Why?"

Gwen exchanged a meaningful glance with Hunith as the older woman struggled to find a tactful way to answer the question. Of course, there were those among the common people who hated the nobility on principle. But how to explain this to Morgana, a royal herself, without causing offense?

"Lady Morgana, Will's father was killed while fighting for King Cenred. I'm afraid he's never quite recovered from the loss, though that's no excuse for his rude behavior. I apologize on his behalf."

Morgana frowned. "But what does that have to do with Arthur? Cenred is an enemy to Camelot, not our ally. Surely he can't hold any of us responsible for..."

"Oh!" Hunith suddenly exclaimed, finding a convenient excuse to change the subject. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize how late it was. The two of you must be hungry, and the boys will be back and wanting their supper any minute now."

The little cottage was largely silent as the five of them sat around the table, eating a simple meal of unseasoned chicken and boiled potatoes. Remembering her promise to stop judging him so harshly, Gwen tried not to notice Arthur's expression of distaste, nor the way he hastily shoveled food onto Merlin's plate whenever Hunith wasn't looking.

But it became impossible to ignore when he shoved an untouched bowl of porridge into her own hands the following morning. She tried to make excuses for him, reminding herself that he wasn't accustomed to such bland food. Of course, Morgana was every bit as privileged as Arthur was and _she_ didn't seem to have any problem eating everything she was given.

After breakfast, Arthur set the two women to the task of gathering weapons and sharpening whatever blades could be found. It was a pleasant surprise to discover there were indeed enough to equip every man and then some... until Gwen came to the realization that the surplus only existed because there weren't many  _men_ to begin with.

How many would Kanen bring with him when he returned? Did it matter? No doubt they'd be brutal, seasoned fighters, making it difficult not to feel pessimistic as she and Morgana watched Arthur attempt to turn farmers, craftsmen, and shepherds into a defensive force.

"There's no way they're going to be able to hold Kanen off," Morgana said darkly, echoing her thoughts.

"Men aren't the only ones who can fight."

"My thoughts exactly. Arthur won't like it, but what choice does he have?"

"Do you think he'll forbid the women from taking part?"

Rolling her eyes, Morgana said, "What can he do? Report us to the king? Throw us in the dungeons? I think not, Gwen. Besides, you forget this is not his kingdom. None of us are under Arthur's command here. We follow him because we choose to, not because we must."

"I... well, surely it would be better if he agreed, so the women could benefit from the training as well?"

"Of course, and I hope we can convince him. Uniting as a single force is by far our best chance. But if he refuses to listen to reason, we'll just have to find another way somehow. I… oh, it looks like they're taking a break. Come on, Gwen."

"Looks like the battle's already fought and lost," she commented as they approached Arthur, keeping her voice low so the nearby villagers wouldn't hear.

"They'll toughen up," he said quietly, not meeting her eyes.

"They'll need to," Gwen blurted before before she could stop herself. Instead of chastising her or even giving her a stern look however, Arthur merely inquired about the weapons.

Morgana shrugged. "There isn't much, but we should be able to scrape together what you need."

"It's not the weapons that worry us. It's having enough people to use them. We think the women should be allowed to fight."

Gwen would've never imagined herself speaking to Arthur so boldly back in Camelot, but the situation was far too grave to worry about silly things like titles and proper protocol. Still, she was relieved when Morgana immediately backed her up.

"You haven't enough men. If they were trained soldiers, maybe you'd stand a chance, but they're not."

"It's too dangerous."

Before either of them could offer a word in protest, he'd already turned and walked away.

* * *

Gwen lay beside Morgana in the narrow bed they shared, silently fuming over Arthur's abrupt dismissal. Who was he to say who should be allowed to defend their homes, their family and friends? What gave him the right to make that decision for another person, woman or not?

She'd never known she felt so strongly about these things until she'd had to deal with them firsthand. There in the darkness, she thought again of Lancelot's desperate struggle just to be given the chance to stand up for what he believed in. He'd been denied because he was a commoner. Was that so different than where she found herself now, rejected simply because she wasn't a man?

Imagining herself hiding in the forest, her assistance refused just because someone had decided she was unworthy to fight left her feeling utterly powerless.

Before, she'd found it difficult to understand why Lancelot had felt obligated to leave Camelot. It made sense that he hadn't wanted to cause conflict between Arthur and the king, of course, but couldn't he have given up his quest for knighthood and found some other work right there in Camelot until he had a better opportunity?

Suddenly, she understood completely. The frustration at being turned away when her own ability to fight might make a difference... that feeling must have been a hundred times worse for Lancelot when he'd been denied the right to serve. After all, he was a born warrior.

Had he remained in Camelot, he would've been forced to watch countless times as the knights had ridden out to face some great peril, knowing his strength might be desperately needed, yet unable to do a thing about it. How much would it have hurt him to stand by helplessly in times of crisis, a man who'd spent the majority of his life training to defend others?

It was unimaginable... so painful that for the first time she was actually glad he'd chosen to leave. She still missed him desperately, of course, but the thought of him suffering through so much helpless frustration was difficult to bear. It was far more comforting to imagine him out in the world somewhere, living on his own terms and fighting for the greater good as he'd always been meant to do.

Resolving to speak with Arthur again in the morning, Gwen closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. Lancelot would have never given up so easily, and neither would she.


	26. A New Beginning

#  **Chapter 26: A New Beginning**

* * *

It was close to nightfall when Lancelot saw the smoke rising in the distance. He'd followed the course of the river for three days, frequently stopping to rest as his body had grown weaker with hunger and weariness. There'd been no sign of civilization, only thickly wooded forest that had seemed to go on forever. 

Somehow, he'd found the will to press on.

It was a cruel contradiction. He'd passed through countless towns and villages when he'd had no coin to spare to avail himself of their comforts. Yet now, with the heaviness of gold weighing down his pockets, he couldn't seem to find a place to spend it on the necessities he so desperately needed.

And then just as he'd resigned himself to another cold, hungry night spent huddled beneath the trees, he'd spotted the smoke. Already so weary he could barely put one foot in front of the other, he pushed himself to continue. Even the slightest possibility of a hot meal and a warm bed to sleep in was too much of a temptation to resist.

 _It's probably nothing,_  he kept telling himself, trying not to get his hopes up. Perhaps it was abandoned campfire or worse, one used by the kind of men who'd robbed him sseveral days before. It could be a natural fire, or any number of things that wouldn't help him at all.

As he drew closer, however, the haze of smoke began to separate into a scattering of smaller columns. He crested a rocky bluff, nearly collapsing in relief as he looked down on the village that was nestled in the valley below.

 _Shelter... food... warmth._  The words echoed over and over in Lancelot's mind as he descended the hill. He stumbled and fell several times on his way down the steep slope, not even noticing the pain from the sharp rocks that cut into his knees and palms.

People stared at him as he entered the town, wild eyed and panting with exertion. He imagined he must be a disconcerting sight – ragged clothing that barely managed to cover his gaunt frame, filthy, matted hair and beard, arms and face a mess of scratches and purple bruises.

 _Probably smell even worse than I look,_  he thought idly, although he couldn't bring himself to care much either way.

The inn was easy to find. It was a large, ramshackle building bearing a crooked sign that read "The Sleeping Goat" in clumsy green letters. He opened the door and stepped inside, giving his tired eyes a moment to adjust to the dim, smoke filled room.

"What can I do for you?" questioned an older, heavyset barmaid with faded blonde hair. She eyed him suspiciously, watery blue eyes narrowing as she took in his shabby appearance.

Lancelot cleared his throat and spoke in a raspy voice. "A room, please. Food, whatever you have. And a tankard of mead."

She gave him a skeptical look. "You got the coin to pay for all that?"

He said nothing, just shook his pockets and watched the woman's expression change at the rattle of heavy coins.

"Very well," she said much more warmly. "You're a little late for supper I'm afraid, but I'm sure we can manage something. There's some stew left over from lunch and plenty of bread to be had, if you don't mind it being a little stale."

"That sounds wonderful," he responded with a polite smile. "Thank you."

She gave him a surprised look, clearly not expecting such courteous behavior from a man of his appearance. "Right, let me see to that then," she said in a voice that was almost kind. "Seat yourself anywhere you like. I'll be back shortly."

He chose a table in the corner, sinking into his chair with a sigh of relief. The barmaid returned with a tray a few minutes later, placing a large bowl of thick, meaty stew in front of him, along with several slices of bread and a frosty tankard of honey mead.

"Let me know if you need anything else," she told him amiably as she fished in the pocket of her apron and pulled out a small metal object. "Oh, and here's your key. Turn left at the top of the stairs and it'll be the third door on your right."

He nodded, mumbling his thanks around a mouthful of bread.

Lancelot hadn't had meat in weeks, nor anything even close to a decent meal. Forcing himself to eat slowly so his body had time to adjust, he savored every bite of the hot stew. Chunks of overcooked beef and a few unseasoned vegetables made for a bland supper, but it was filling. The bread was indeed stale, especially without honey or butter to soften the hard, dry crust. But he devoured every last crumb as if it were the best food he'd ever eaten.

After he'd finished and drained his tankard, he felt more like himself than he had in months. His full belly left him satisfied, drowsy and content, to the point that he was afraid he might pass out right there at the table.

Instead, he summoned a last bit of energy, stumbling up the stairs and locating his room, then locking the door behind him. Stripping off his ruined clothing, he collapsed on the narrow bed and immediately drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

He didn't wake again for nearly two days.

* * *

For several weeks, Lancelot stayed on at the inn. The barmaid, who introduced herself as Nessie, proved to be an immeasurable help as he gradually recovered from his long months of isolation and near starvation in the wilderness.

It was Nessie who managed to find him a set of clean clothes after his first bath, carrying away his bloodstained rags between thumb and forefinger and muttering something about feeding them to the fire. Little necessities mysteriously appeared in his room here and there, and she always seemed to include extra chunks of meat or slices of bread and cheese on his plate during meal time.

When he'd tried to thank her for her kindness, however, she'd only turned red with embarrassment, pretending she had no idea what he was talking about. "A hot meal in front of him and he's too busy running his mouth to eat it," she'd grumbled under her breath as she'd walked away. "It's no wonder he's so bloody skinny."

By the second week, the pair were fast friends. Nessie was gruff in manner, but it was obvious she had a soft heart beneath her rough exterior. She began sitting with him during meals whenever she was off duty, though when he'd tease her about seeking out his company, she'd snort and inform him that she was just resting her feet.

Lancelot never told her about his past, nor did she ask any questions. She mostly regaled him with harmless gossip about the townsfolk and talked about her husband, the local brewer. "Drinks more ale than he sells, the miserable sot," she'd grumble, though there was always a twinkle in her eye whenever she spoke of him.

He was greatly interested when Nessie mentioned that her husband's younger brother was the town blacksmith and by that afternoon, had acquired a battered, yet sturdy sword and a basic mail shirt. It was far from the finery Gwen's father had created, the loss of which still pained him, but it would certainly do well enough for the time being.

On his way back to the inn, he passed a cottage with a sign that advertised barber services within. He emerged an hour later with a fresh shave and closely cropped hair.

Nessie gave a loud whistle when he returned, startling several nearby patrons. "Well I'll be damned! Been wondering what you looked like under that disgusting rat's nest you tried to pass off as a beard. Now just put a little more meat on those bones and I might not even be able to call you ugly anymore!"

He took it for the compliment it was, grinning back at her on his way up the stairs.

* * *

Lancelot counted his few remaining coins later that night, sighing to himself as he did so. He'd paid for meals and a place to sleep these past few weeks, had bought a new satchel and basic supplies, as well as the sword and mail he'd acquired earlier that day. Nothing beyond necessities, though as cautious as he'd been, his money was almost gone.

The horse he'd hoped to buy was out of the question now; the most he could pay for was a couple more days of food and shelter.

_What am I to do after that? Where will I go?_

As he undressed for bed, he stopped to stare at himself in the cracked mirror that was nailed to the back of the door. He was still a little thin, but the frightful gauntness of starvation was gone. The sharp planes and angles of his face had begun to fill in a little and his scratches and bruises had healed. Even the desperate, hungry look in his eyes had faded, though they still held a hint of his recent sufferings.

 _I look almost healthy,_  he realized in amazement.  _I feel it, too._

The thought of returning to brutally cold nights, isolation and constant, gnawing hunger was too much to bear. He needed a plan, and quickly. _Anything_ to put a few coins in his pocket, just enough to keep food in his belly and shelter over his head. Perhaps when the weather grew warmer, he'd be able to search for better opportunities.

For now, he could only hope there was some kind of work to be found here in this village. Perhaps Nessie would have an idea.

Comforted by that thought, he blew out the candle and crawled into bed.

* * *

The barmaid frowned thoughtfully as Lancelot explained his predicament. "So it's work you're wanting then? Little enough to be found around these parts; it's the dead of winter, you know. What are you good at? Not much, by the looks of you. Do you have any skills?"

"I can muck out stables, chop wood, repair buildings, mend fences..."

She interrupted him with a snort. "Yes, you and every other able-bodied man and half grown boy in five kingdoms. Afraid that's not going to help you much. Do you know how to do anything else? Do you have a trade?"

He shook his head, trying not to appear as hopeless as he was beginning to feel. "All I've ever done... well, it doesn't matter."

Nessie's eyes were suddenly compassionate. "In my line of work, I've learned it's best not to ask too many questions. Don't want to cross a line that could get me killed, you see. But you don't seem the type that normally passes through these parts. You're not a bandit or a mercenary or someone on the wrong side of the law, are you?"

"No," Lancelot responded quietly. "Only a man who's fallen on difficult times, that's all."

"I can see that," she said as she rose to her feet. "Well, I'll ask around. Not promising anything, but I'll ask."

"Thank you, I'm very grateful… not only for this, but for all the help you've given me. You've been more than kind."

She snorted again, waving away the praise with a flush of embarrassment. "No idea what you're going on about. I've got to get back to work. Why don't you go outside and walk around a bit instead of bothering me all day? The fresh air will do you good."

* * *

It was an unusually lovely day for winter, the sky a brilliant blue instead of the dull, leaden gray that was common this time of year. The air still carried a biting chill, but it didn't seem so bad after a hot breakfast... almost pleasant when Lancelot slid on the warm woolen jacket Nessie had given him the week before.

"Just lying around taking up space," she'd insisted carelessly when he'd tried to thank her. "Gets in my way, it does. Do what you want with it. Feed it to the fire for all I care. Long as I don't have to bother with it anymore."

Lancelot smiled at the memory, breaking into an outright grin as he wondered how poor Nessie would fare in the palace at Camelot. If his own mild courtesies were enough to cause her so much embarrassment, he could only imagine how she'd react in a place where people barely said two words to one another without including a lavish compliment or expression of gratitude.

It was strange that life could change so drastically in a matter of weeks. He could think about Camelot now, of Gwen, Merlin, and Arthur, even dwell on his failed quest for knighthood without the awful pain the memories had brought when he'd been alone in the wilderness. Imagining himself on the brink of death, he'd grieved for things that had seemed lost forever.

Now, he was beginning to feel hope again. It wasn't the blind optimism of the boy he'd been when he'd arrived in Camelot, believing he was in complete control of his destiny. No, it was the new realization that life was far too unpredictable to say what might be possible... today, tomorrow or in the distant future.

He touched the sword that hung at his waist and smiled. How long had it been since he'd wielded a proper weapon? Not since he'd left Camelot more than half a year before, he realized with a sudden rush of anticipation.

There were no training dummies to be found in such a small village, so he headed to the edge of the nearby forest, locating a tall, sturdy oak tree that was about the right size. Striking solid wood would result in hours spent laboring with the whetstone later, but it would be worth it.

Smiling to himself, he moved into his preferred stance and launched into a series of attacks that were as familiar to him as breathing. He'd forgotten nothing over the previous few months, though his movements weren't quite as swift as they'd once been, and he felt his muscles beginning to ache far sooner than he might have expected.

 _I've grown soft and lazy,_  he scolded himself as he pushed himself to continue through his weariness.  _From now on, I'll find a way to train every day. This is the one thing I_ _**cannot**_ _lose._

"Very impressive, boy," spoke a voice behind him, and too late, he realized that swordplay wasn't the only area where he was out of practice. Instincts that had once been sharp as a dagger had grown dull, allowing someone to sneak up on him without his knowledge.

He whirled around, feeling a chill creep up his spine as he recognized the man.

"Remember me, do you?" the bandit said with a humorless smirk. "I remember you, too, though you're looking a bit better than the last time I saw you. Been doing well for yourself on that stolen gold, haven't you?"

Lancelot gave him a defiant look. "I didn't steal any gold. The man was dead, and at any rate, perhaps its compensation for what was taken from  _me_."

That was met with a harsh chuckle. "Dead, the both of them. Yes. Seems I underestimated you. Don't worry – I won't be making that mistake again."

Just as Lancelot tensed his muscles, preparing to move forward and attack, the bandit shot him a black toothed grin and gave a loud whistle. Shadows fell over him from all sides and he found himself surrounded by half a dozen men, barbed maces and brutal looking clubs at the ready.

"You know what to do," the leader snapped.

There was no time to consider the hopelessness of the situation as he was attacked from all sides. All he could do was fight. Putting up a valiant effort, he was satisfied when two, maybe even three of the men lay unmoving at his feet. Thrust and parry, duck and swing. There wasn't a man among them who didn't carry a wound he'd inflicted.

Had he not been so out of practice, he might have defeated them all. Instead, he grew weary under the seemingly endless onslaught. One misstep and he was on the ground, his foot having slipped on a patch of blood slicked grass. His sword flew out of his hand and he lay there unarmed, staring helplessly at the three grinning faces above him.

With a brutal blow of a club to the side of the head, his world went black.


	27. Unanswered Questions

#  **Chapter 27: Unanswered Questions**

* * *

"Guinevere," Arthur said with a small nod as he passed her in the corridor.

Nearly dropping the basket of laundry in her arms, she stared after him in amazement. He'd treated her differently ever since their return from Ealdor a couple months before, but this was the first time he'd actually  _spoken_ to her.

The change had been subtle – an occasional grunt of thanks when she filled his cup at supper or a curt nod in her direction whenever he visited Morgana's chambers. It wasn't much, really, but even the smallest gestures were a pleasant surprise when coming from a man who'd always treated her as if she were invisible.

For her part, she'd largely kept her word to stop being so critical of him. She'd found that to be easier than she'd imagined after witnessing how much he'd done to help the citizens of Ealdor defeat the bandits who'd been causing them so much grief. Arthur had fought alongside them as equals, treating both men and women with courtesy and respect.

But the most surprising moment of all had been when she'd scolded him for turning his nose up at the simple food they were served in the village. He'd accepted her criticisms gracefully, even  _thanking_ her for speaking out.

She'd thought of that many times since their return, wondering where she'd gotten the nerve to speak to him that way, then finding herself amazed all over again that he'd taken it so well.

How would Uther have reacted if a servant had openly criticized his behavior like that? Gwen was sure she would've been publicly shamed, then sent straight to the dungeons... and that was if the king happened to be feeling  _generous_ that day.

Fortunately for her, Arthur had proven himself to be a very different man, capable of fairness and even humility when dealing with commoners such as herself.

He still irritated her when she overheard him boasting to one of the knights or saying something insulting to Merlin. Even so, she was starting to think he wasn't quite the arrogant bully she'd always believed him to be. He was beginning to show what she'd always suspected... that he had a good heart underneath it all.

"Ah, thank you, Gwen," Morgana smiled as she entered the chamber carrying the basket of clean laundry. "If you'll just put that away, you can take the rest of the day off."

"But my lady, it's only noon," she responded, blinking in surprise.

Morgana waved a dismissive hand. "I can't think of any chores that can't wait until tomorrow. Besides, Uther has requested my presence in the Council Chamber this afternoon. I might have to stand around listening to the king talk about boring things, but that doesn't mean I need to drag you along with me. Go and enjoy a little time to yourself."

Gwen made her way through the dim corridors of the palace and out into the street, overjoyed at the unexpected freedom. It was a beautiful, pleasantly mild day, as warmth from the afternoon sun chased any lingering chill from the air.

 _It'll be spring soon,_  she realized as she wandered through the lower town. With a happy smile, she imagined blooming flowers, gentle rain, and the fresh green of awakening trees. Spring had always been her favorite season... she loved watching the world come back to life and renew itself every year.

When she arrived home, she threw the windows open and set to work – scrubbing the house from top to bottom, washing dishes, dusting cupboards and shelves, then dragging the bedding outside to air out in the fragrant breeze. It might be a little early for spring cleaning, but the temptation of a fresh home after the staleness of winter was impossible to resist.

As she stooped to run a broom under the bed, she frowned when she noticed a ball of blue fabric wadded up in the corner near the wall. Shaking off the dust, she held it in front of her, staring at it in consternation.

 _Lancelot's shirt._  How long had it been there? A few weeks... perhaps longer? Strange that she'd forgotten all about it after clinging to it so fiercely during the first few months following his departure.

Traces of his scent still lingered in the fabric when she brought it to her nose, much more faint than they'd been the last time she remembered having done this. After a moment, she sighed wistfully, then carefully folded the shirt and packed it away in a box.

She still found herself thinking of him at times, though not with the constant, desperate longing she'd felt in the beginning. There was no denying she still had feelings for him... but as time passed, it was becoming easier to bury those emotions somewhere deep inside and put them from her mind.

When he  _did_ intrude upon her thoughts these days, she was obligated to face the truth. It had been nearly eight months since he'd left and he hadn't sent so much as a word. Part of her worried that he'd fallen upon some misfortune, but she knew it was much more likely that he'd simply moved on with his life.

If he still had any intention of returning, wouldn't he have written by now? Wouldn't he have found a way to send her a letter? Couldn't he have at least gotten some message to Merlin, letting him know he was all right? Merlin had promised to tell her if he heard anything... but it had been months since he'd even mentioned Lancelot's name.

No... deep in her heart, she was beginning to realize that she'd have to put her feelings aside. What use was there in waiting for a man who was unlikely to ever return?

Giving herself a shake, she pushed the dismal thought away and glanced down at the carpet beneath her feet, deciding it could use a good beating. She dragged it outside and set about the task, finding herself soothed by the rhythmic pounding as her mind returned to more practical things.

 _After this, maybe I'll go beyond the city gates and see if there are any wildflowers in bloom,_ she mused to herself. It might be a little early yet, but it would be nice to have a few to freshen up the house.

"Boo!"

Startled, she jumped as her father's head popped over the rug in front of her. How had he managed to sneak up on her so quietly?

"Did I surprise you?" he asked with a playful grin.

"You most certainly did!" she exclaimed, responding to his cheerful mood with a smile of her own.

"I've got another surprise for you, too," he said, eyes warm and gentle as he handed her a tiny object wrapped in a bit of cloth.

She opened it curiously, revealing a beautiful silver button engraved with a star. It was sweet of him to bring her something so pretty, but what on earth was she supposed to do with a single button that didn't match anything else she owned?

"It's... lovely," she murmured, hoping he wouldn't notice the skepticism in her voice.

The next thing she knew, he was saying something about needing spares as he held up an exquisite gown, crafted from the some of the finest wool she'd ever seen. Gasping in amazement, she reached out to touch it, admiring the softness of the brightly dyed fabric beneath her fingertips.

"It's beautiful!"

"Well, you're a beautiful girl, Gwen. You deserve beautiful things."

Any concerns she voiced about the cost of such an extravagant gift were waved away as if they were of no importance. There was some hinting about a change in fortune without further explanation, followed by reassurances that she had nothing to worry about as he kissed her on the cheek and informed her he wouldn't be home until late that night.

After that, all she could do was worry.

Tom was a wonderful man, kind, loving and generous to friends and strangers alike, without a cross word for anyone. Unfortunately, his best qualities were also his biggest downfall, as he was open and trusting with everyone who crossed his path.

Gwen was far more cautious by nature, which sometimes led her to feel as if she were the parent and he the child. More than once, she'd had to discourage him from making an impractical purchase they couldn't afford or found herself having to intervene to prevent him from accepting customers that had taken advantage of other merchants in the city.

In the past, however, her father had always been straight with her about his plans and schemes. He'd never withheld the truth, even when he'd known it would meet with her disapproval. So why the sudden secrecy?

Gwen frowned at his retreating back, then carried her new dress inside.

* * *

Lancelot opened his eyes and stared up at the stone ceiling above him, blinking in confusion as he slowly became aware of his surroundings.

 _Stone?_ No, that wasn't right. The inn where he'd slept these past few weeks was a simple building with a roof of thatch and walls of wood. That place always smelled of roasting meat and wood smoke, not cedar and fresh herbs.

 _Where am I?_

Bewildered, he rose up on his elbows and looked around the spacious chamber, not recognizing the heavy furniture or the finely embroidered tapestries on the walls. The bed was much larger than any he'd ever slept in, covered in fine sheets and thick, luxurious furs.

As he sat up to reach for the cup and pitcher he spotted on the nightstand, he suddenly realized that he was completely naked beneath the blankets. But his momentary concern over that was immediately eclipsed by a sharp pain that shot through his head as he shifted into a sitting position.

 _What...?_  He gingerly pressed his fingers to a large knot just above his ear.

Suddenly, it all came rushing back... his impromptu sword practice, followed by hard fighting against the group of bandits who'd ambushed him from behind. The last thing he could recall was a nasty looking club being swung at his head as he lay helpless on the ground at their feet.

 _I should be dead,_  he realized, becoming more confused by the second. Even if they hadn't decided to finish him off right then and there, wouldn't they have left him in the woods to die? Why was he alive then? And what was he doing in what appeared to be a fortress of some sort?

"H-hello?" he meant to call out in a loud voice, though it emerged as only a hoarse whisper. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Hello, is anyone there?"

Realizing he was naked, weaponless, and completely vulnerable made him nervous, but as his eyes shifted to the potions and bandages that littered the nightstand, he reminded himself that anyone who'd gone to such pains to care for his injuries surely meant no harm.

There was a shuffle of footsteps, and then the chamber door opened to reveal an elderly man with a bald head and a hooked nose. His face seemed to fixed in a permanent scowl, though his faded gray eyes were kind as one corner of his mouth flickered in what Lancelot assumed must be a smile.

"Ah, awake at last!" he exclaimed in a high, reedy voice. "We were beginning to think it would never happen."

There were so many questions flying around in his head that he hardly knew where to begin. "How long have I been here?" he asked, choosing one at random.

"About a week," the man said. He crossed the room and reached out to examine the wound, clicking his tongue in disapproval as Lancelot instinctively recoiled.

"Yes, and I've been caring for you all this time. Let me see to your wound, boy. I mean you no harm. Could've killed you a hundred times by now if I'd had a mind to."

He mumbled an apology, trying not to wince as the man's gnarled fingers began to probe at his tender flesh. "A week? How can that be? Is the wound really so severe?"

"No, not the head. But the other injury had already festered when they brought you in. High fever and a nasty infection. You were in and out of consciousness for days, delirious and raving like a madman as often as not. Doubt you'd remember."

"No, I don't," he admitted as the man lifted the blanket, revealing a heavily bandaged thigh. He made an effort not to squirm as the wound was unwrapped and redressed, trying not to notice how dangerously close the long, neatly stitched gash was to his groin.

 _A few more inches and..._  he didn't even want to think about it.

"Healing nicely now. You'll be fine in a few days, but until then, you'll have to stay in bed and rest. Haven't had nothing but herbs mixed with honey since you got here. Need to get some real food in you to get your strength back."

"Thank you," Lancelot said politely. "Can you tell me where I am? Why am I here? It's not that I don't appreciate your assistance, but..."

The old man shook his head. "Orders are to let the master explain. He returns on the morrow. Don't worry, you'll come to no harm while you recover. Just eat and rest for tonight and your questions will be answered soon enough. I'll have some food sent up."

After the man left, it was only a matter of minutes before a young girl with bright red hair entered the room on silent feet, carrying a steaming platter. Lancelot tried to speak to her, but she kept her eyes averted, saying nothing as she served him a plate full of roasted venison, boiled vegetables, and fresh baked bread with butter and honey.

He ate a little, slept and then ate again, giving his long empty stomach time to adjust to the rich food. Finally finishing the meal a few hours later, he was beginning to feel a little stronger. Restlessness overtook him then, along with an intense longing to rise and wander about the fortress so he might have a better idea of his surroundings.

No... the old healer had advised him to stay in bed and he certainly didn't want to do anything that might prolong his recovery in such an unfamiliar place.

He let out a heavy sigh and lay back against the pillows. Closing his eyes, he tried to lose himself in sleep again, but his mind wouldn't rest. He stared out a nearby window for a time, gazing at the moon as he imagined a dozen reasons he might've been brought here. None of them made the least bit of sense.

As he shifted from his side to his back, he felt the stitches in his thigh pull, reminding him of his earlier anxiety about the location of the wound. Suddenly filled with irrational fear, he reached beneath the covers and wrapped a hand around himself.

The blade hadn't touched him there... but what if the close proximity of the wound had somehow damaged his ability to perform? Tentatively, he moved his fingers up and down in a familiar rhythm.

Nothing happened.

He repeated the motion more forcefully for a few minutes, dismayed as he looked down to find himself soft and useless. With a sinking feeling, he realized this much stimulation had quickly brought him to full arousal many times in the past.

No... fate could not be so cruel. He'd never even lain with a woman! Always putting aside his desires of the moment, he'd somehow managed to hold out for a time when it might mean something more than passing physical pleasure. Imagining his patience might be rewarded with permanent failure was unbearable to even think about.

Dropping his hand in defeat, he stared moodily out the window.


	28. Greytower

#  **Chapter 28: Greytower**

* * *

_"Lancelot..." the familiar voice spoke in a soft whisper, sending a shiver of longing through his body._

_She lay beneath him on the rich furs, dark curls tumbling in disarray across the pillow. Breathless, he searched her face as she gazed up at him with eyes full of passion, luminous in the candlelit chamber. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close as her delicate fingers trailed restlessly down his bare back. He closed his eyes with a shuddering sigh._

_"Gwen..." he heard himself say, the words coming out hoarse and uneven. "Are you sure?"_

_She just smiled in response, curling her fingers into the hair at the back of his neck as she urged his lips down to meet hers..._

Lancelot was fully hard when he awoke, restless and aching with an unsatisfied hunger. Clinging fiercely to the blissful sensations of the dream, he didn't even open his eyes as he pushed the blankets aside and reached down to pleasure himself.

 _Gwen..._  his hand moved slowly at first, almost leisurely, as he remembered the softness of her eyes and the sweet taste of her mouth. But recalling the intoxicating passion of the kisses they'd shared soon prompted a firmer grip as his breath became ragged and uneven.

Vividly, the memory of her soft body pressed against his came rushing back, making him groan aloud as he increased both speed and friction.  _Close, so close..._  his motions became frenzied as he remembered the way she'd set his flesh afire with longing wherever they'd touched.

If she'd had such an effect on him through thick padding and heavy armor, what must it be like to lie naked with her, with nothing but bare skin between them? Just the thought of it was enough to drive him mad with pleasure.

Biting his lip to hold back the gasps and groans his throat begged to release, he shifted to his side, burying his face in the pillows as his body spasmed in the throes of a powerful climax.

Feeling pleasantly lethargic in the aftermath, he lay quietly and allowed his breathing to return to normal. Laughing softly, he remembered his fruitless struggle to arouse himself the night before, immediately followed by the concern that he was damaged beyond repair.

_Of course it didn't work. I was thinking of nothing beyond my own fear. I should've just…_

Startled, he snatched the covers over himself as the chamber door opened, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw it was only the old healer. Despite his unanswered questions, he didn't feel quite ready to face the mysterious "master" that had been mentioned the previous night.

"You all right, boy? Thought I heard some sort of grunting in here. Can give you something for the pain if you need it."

"Y-yes. I mean, no," he stammered in embarrassment, before pausing to clear his throat. "What I mean is, yes, I'm all right and no, I don't need anything for the pain. I hardly feel it anymore."

Peering at him suspiciously, the healer shuffled a few steps closer. "You sure? Looks like you've been sweating and it ain't warm in here. Hope that fever isn't back."

"No, no," Lancelot said hastily. "I'm feeling much better this morning, thank you. I just had a bad dream, that's all. I'm sorry if I disturbed you."

"Was headed this way anyway. Wanted to make sure you were well enough to meet the master later this morning. He's eager to see what he's purchased."

" _Purchased?"_ Lancelot repeated with a frown of consternation. "I don't understand."

"Oh, me and my big mouth," the healer gasped, backing out of the room. "Forget I said anything. Millie will bring you breakfast and some clean clothes here shortly. I must go."

"Wait! Can you at least tell me...?" But the door had already closed with a loud thud before he could finish the thought.

He soon discovered that Millie was the redheaded girl who'd brought his supper the night before. She was even more timid and silent this morning, serving him a thick slice of ham, eggs, and a mug of cold cider while pretending not to hear his numerous questions.

After he'd eaten, she brought him a steaming bucket of water, soap, and a washing cloth. She started to pull back the blankets herself, but Lancelot shook his head and moved into a sitting position. "No, I am not that helpless. I can do it myself, thank you."

Millie obliged, keeping her back turned while he sponged himself off, then struggled into the clean shirt and trousers she'd brought. She would not relent when he reached for the razor in her hand, however, taking a quick step backward as an anxious expression flitted across her face.

"Please," he said in a gentle voice. "I don't know what you've been told, but I would never harm you. Even if my legs were strong enough to carry me, you'd have nothing to fear. I just want to..."

She recoiled as he reached for the razor a second time, shaking her head vehemently as she pointed at herself.

Lancelot sighed in resignation, then flashed a smile in her direction. "All right, have it your way. Shall I allow you to tie me up as well? Would that be enough to believe I'm harmless?"

Millie didn't react to the joke, keeping her eyes lowered as she seated herself on the edge of the bed and began to scrape the whiskers from his face.

"Thank you," he said quietly as she worked. "For this, and for all your help."

She glanced up at him for a brief moment, and he realized with some surprise that she was quite pretty. It had been difficult to tell what she looked like with the way the thick mass of copper hair had shielded her tiny freckled nose, small mouth, and wide gray eyes. She might not be a stunning beauty, but there was something sweet about her face that made up for any shortcomings.

"Why will you not speak to me?" he asked, his voice soft and entreating. "What are you afraid of?"

"Master wouldn't like it," she mumbled under her breath, then rose abruptly and began to gather his dishes and bathing supplies. She avoided his eyes as she hurried back and forth, carrying the items from the room and returning with clean bedding and a fresh chamber pot.

The tread of approaching footsteps suddenly echoed in the hallway, too swift and heavy to be the slow shuffle of the old healer. Lancelot felt a shiver of fear in the pit of his stomach, though that was nothing compared with Millie's reaction as she froze and stared at the door in stark terror.

He burst into the chamber without warning, a large, imposing man with narrow black eyes, closely cropped black hair, and a thick black beard that was grizzled with gray. Dressed from head to toe in rich furs, fine brocades, and a wealth of jewels, he made an impressive sight as he strode over to the bed and stared down at Lancelot.

"Don't look like much, do you?" he said, raising a thick black eyebrow. Behind him, Lancelot saw Millie slip from the room, silently closing the door behind her.

"I..." He gulped, trying to think of a proper response.

"Do you know where you are? Who I am? Why you're here? What have they told you?" The questions were fired at him one after another as the man settled himself into a large chair and pulled it closer to the bed.

"N-nothing, my lord," Lancelot stuttered. "Only that I'd been unconscious for a week, but that my wounds were healing nicely. They said you'd answer any further questions I might have."

"Pleased to know my instructions were followed for once. You're right to address me by my proper title. I am Lord Elbert. Your name...?"

"My name is Lancelot." 

"Well, Lancelot, welcome to Greytower. Through my generosity, your life has been saved. You've been given food, shelter, and clothing, and have received treatment at the hands of one of the finest healers in the kingdom. Tell me, how do you feel about that?"

"I am very grateful to you, my lord. But..."

"But you wonder why I did it," Lord Elbert finished with a chuckle. "Why would I go to so much trouble on behalf of a man who had nothing to offer in return?"

Lancelot nodded.

"Well, there you have your answer. I am not a charitable man. Most rich men aren't, you know, else they wouldn't be rich in the first place." He paused to laugh at his own joke. "It must be clear that you have something I want."

"But I have nothing," Lancelot protested as he frowned in confusion. "I'm no one."

"Ah, that's where you're wrong. From what I understand, you're quite talented with a sword. Exceptionally so."

"Whatever you heard must have been exaggerated, my lord. Either that or you have the wrong person. I am not that..."

"Are you not the man who was set upon by a group of bandits right outside the village of Oakview? Didn't you send three of them to their deaths and leave the others seriously wounded before falling yourself?"

"I didn't mean to cause any harm," Lancelot said quietly as he conceded the point. "I did not provoke them. They attacked me. I was left with no choice but to defend myself."

"Relax," Lord Elbert said with a chuckle. "I don't expect you to answer for your actions. Yellow bellied cowards got what they deserved, as far as I can tell. Nasty business, ganging up on a lone man the way they did. That's no way to fight."

Relieved, he nodded in agreement.

"Three of those men were considered the most dangerous fighters for fifty leagues in all directions. They've been a menace this territory for years, committing all sorts of vile atrocities I won't even speak of. Thanks to you, two of them are dead and the third will never raise his sword arm again."

Lancelot began to smile. Whether he'd realized it at the time or not, he'd done an honorable thing that would spare many innocent lives in the future. The thought filled him with a sense of pride and satisfaction.

"You didn't know who it was you faced? Well, I suppose it's no surprise. I can tell from your accent that you don't come from these parts. No matter. The point is, that fight stands as proof of your exceptional skill. And it's that skill I need."

"My lord, I don't know what to say."

"Well, let me tell you the rest. I'm sure you've wondered how you came to be here. One of the men who survived was wise enough to recognize an opportunity when he saw it. He brought you to me, demanding a pretty sum in exchange for your life. After sending some of my men to verify the truth of his story, it was a price I happily paid."

"I am humbled by your generosity. Thank you, I owe you my life. I'm happy to repay that debt with whatever service I might provide."

Lord Elbert gave him a searching look. "Do I have your word on that?"

Lancelot nodded in assent, feeling overjoyed as he imagined himself serving among Lord Elbert's household guard. Perhaps he couldn't be a knight anytime in the near future, but defending the realm of a high lord wasn't so very far from it.

* * *

Two weeks later, fully recovered and well-nourished by the rich food the ever silent Millie brought to his chamber three times a day, Lancelot was bidden to appear in the training yard. Lord Elbert himself equipped him with a mail shirt and a sturdy sword, giving him a hearty slap on the back as he set him against his first opponent.

"Show us what you've got, boy!"

Eager to prove himself, Lancelot had the first man on the ground with the point of his sword to his chest in a matter of seconds. The second went down almost as quickly, though the third required a few minutes of real effort before he was forced to yield.

One by one, Lancelot bested every man who faced him, drenched in sweat and breathing hard by the end of it all. As Lord Elbert applauded and let loose a loud whoop, he looked up in amazement to see twelve defeated men sitting on the sidelines.

"A champion indeed! Get Lancelot here a hot bath and see to it that he's escorted to my chambers for supper tonight. We have much to talk about!"

* * *

Lancelot stripped off his sweaty clothes and sank blissfully into the steaming tub, sighing in pleasure as the ache of tired, overworked muscles began to melt away. He scrubbed himself from head to toe as the water began to cool, then dried off and pulled on a pair of fine woolen trousers.

It was Millie who came to escort him to Lord Elbert's chambers a few minutes later. She stood waiting beside the door as he pulled on his boots, but made no move to open it as he rose to follow her. Twisting the folds of her dull gray skirt, she looked up at him for the briefest instant, then returned her gaze to the floor.

"Did you wish to say something?" he prodded gently.

He was taken by surprise as she suddenly met his eyes directly, giving him a bold, searching look that made him feel as if  _he_ were the timid one. As she studied his face, she seemed to find what she was looking for. She took a deep breath, then opened her mouth to speak.

"You're a good man, aren't you?"

Caught off guard by the question, he hesitated and cleared his throat before responding. "I try to be. I'm far from perfect and have made wrong choices but..."

"No, I see the kindness in you. I'm not wrong, am I? No, don't answer. I've seen so little of it in my life that it's impossible to miss when it actually appears. You have an honorable heart."

"Well, thank you," he replied, touched by her generous assessment.

She took a couple of hesitant steps closer, peering up into his face. "I've been in and out of this chamber several times a day for two weeks now. Not once have you groped or harassed me. Not once have you even spoken an unkind word."

"No." Lancelot gave her a puzzled frown. "Why would I? What reason have you ever given me to mistreat you?"

Nodding in satisfaction, Millie lowered her voice as she spoke again. "I'm taking a great risk, but listen to me. You need to leave and leave quickly. If you take the back corridor, there'll only be three or four guards you'll have to slip past before you're free. "

"I can't do that," he said, confused by her urgency. "I gave Lord Elbert my word that I'd repay him for all his assistance in whatever way I can. I cannot break that promise."

Her eyes flashed with anger and frustration. "What good are promises to a man like him? He'd use you without a second thought, don't you see? He thinks of his own selfish purposes and nothing else. It's no matter to him whether you live or die, as long as he gets what he wants."

"But I owe him..."

"You owe him  _nothing!_ You don't understand what…" but then she trailed off abruptly at the sound of approaching footsteps. Shaking her head in resignation, she opened the door to reveal the guard who was waiting on the other side.

"Lord Elbert grows impatient," the man said gruffly. "He's asked me to inform him if his new champion is being distracted with the mindless chatter of a servant. If so, he says to tell you there will be consequences, girl."

Lancelot grew uneasy as he watched Millie's eyes widen in fear, taken aback when he realized that most of her anxiety was directed at him. Did she think he'd break her trust, revealing the words that had just passed between them?

"There's no need for that," he told the guard in a smooth voice. "It was my fault – I fell asleep in the bath. Had Millie not woken me when she did, I might have missed supper entirely. Don't worry, I intend to beg Lord Elbert's pardon as soon as I see him."

"Very well," the guard said, giving him a curt nod. "If you'll follow me..."

As he walked out the door, Lancelot couldn't resist giving Millie a conspiratorial wink. When he looked back over his shoulder, she was staring after him in amazement.


	29. The Price of Surrender

#  **Chapter 29: The Price of Surrender**

* * *

"More ale, damn you!" Lord Elbert bellowed in a cheerful voice. "Can't you see we're thirsty?"

A serving boy with a tangled mop of blond hair detached himself from the wall and scurried over, retrieving a pitcher and filling both of their cups to the brim.

"W-will there be anything else, my lord?" he questioned with an awkward bow.

"Hmm... oh yes, I know. Why don't you climb under the table and suck on my cock for a bit? How does that sound?"

Lancelot's eyes widened in shock as the boy sputtered and turned a bright shade of red. "M-my lord? You want me to...?"

"Yes indeed," Lord Elbert said with a satisfied nod. "And after you're finished with me, you can service my guest here. What do you think, Lancelot? Seems like a fine idea, does it not?"

"My lord, I don't think..." he cast about awkwardly, trying to come up with a refusal that wouldn't offend the other man. "I don't want... no, thank you, my lord."

Leaning closer, his host peered at him with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Not into boys, eh? Big mistake, my friend. One hot mouth sliding up and down on your cock feels just as good as another. Here, let me show you. Come here, boy!"

Lancelot rose abruptly, knocking his chair over in his haste to escape the uncomfortable situation. "I-I'm sorry, I must excuse myself. The food was wonderful, but I'm very tired after the practice session today. I should seek my bed before I fall asleep right here at the table."

Lord Elbert suddenly roared with laughter, spitting a mouthful of ale all over his fine tunic. "Sit down, sit down! Bloody hell, don't either of you know a joke when you hear one? Where's your sense of humor?"

Casting a relieved glance at the boy, Lancelot felt a sharp stab of resentment as he noticed the terror in his eyes.

Nonetheless, he knew it was expected and so he laughed politely.  _A little too much ale affecting his judgment, perhaps_ , he tried to reassure himself as Lord Elbert dismissed the servant.  _I'm sure he didn't mean any harm._

"Well, Lancelot, now that we've had some fun, let's talk about important things. Impressive work out in the yard today. Impressive indeed! Your skill with a sword is well worth the money I spent, right down to the last copper. Let's discuss how we can use that skill to our advantage, shall we?"

He nodded, trying his best not to appear too eager.

Lord Elbert gave him a sly look. "First, why don't you tell me how  _you_ think you might be best able to serve me? I'd be interested to learn what ambitions you have for yourself."

For a man as humble as Lancelot, it was an uncomfortable question to answer. "Well, my lord, I'd hope to have the honor of serving in your household guard if it seemed appropriate to reward me with such a position."

"Are you mad?"

"I-I didn't mean I expected it to just be  _given_ to me. I know I'd have to earn the opportunity, just like any other man..."

Lord Elbert howled in amusement, sputtering and choking before he managed to calm himself enough to speak again.

"Boy, you put a dozen men on their backs today without breaking a sweat! Why in the hell would someone like you want to serve alongside... son of a whore, it's absurd!"

Lancelot frowned in confusion. "My lord?"

"Let me put it this way. Would you send a fine war steed out to plow the fields like a common work horse? No, of course you wouldn't."

"But..."

"There are plenty of men willing to join my guard for a few silvers and a straw pallet in the barracks. As long as they can swing a sword, they serve well enough. But I'd be a fool to waste your talents that way."

"You honor me, my lord, but I don't understand how else I can repay you for..."

"You really don't know, do you?" Lord Elbert said, giving him a strange look. "I thought your humility was just an act, but it's not, is it? Bloody hell, your skills must have required _years_ of hard training. You're telling me you did all that just to serve in some household guard where you'd never earn more than a pittance?"

For some reason, Lancelot didn't feel comfortable mentioning Camelot or his former dreams of knighthood. Instead, he just nodded. "I've never cared much for personal gain, my lord."

"I suppose it's a comfort to think that way when you see no opportunity to improve your fortunes. Well, that's all about to change. Let me tell you what it is I want from you, and what I'm offering in return."

He paused to take a sip of ale. "I am a rich man... a  _very_ rich man. But I wasn't born to my fortune. I gained it through patience and cunning and in taking advantage of opportunities wherever I saw them. My instincts have rarely steered me wrong."

Lancelot nodded politely, slightly bewildered at the direction of the conversation.

"My biggest rival is is a man named Ulric. _Lord_ Ulric to you, of course. For six months now, Ulric has claimed to have the greatest fighter in the kingdom in his service. Boasts to all who will listen that this champion of his is undefeatable. Naturally, I've taken it upon myself to prove otherwise. "

"My lord, I..."

Lord Elbert waved an impatient hand. "I've put forth  _five_ different champions for this challenge. Every last one of them has failed. I don't like failure... downright  _despise_ it when I lose two thousand gold coins every time it happens. Do you have any idea how much money that is, Lancelot?"

He swiftly calculated the sum in his head.  _Ten thousand gold._  Suddenly, he remembered the small bag of coins he'd taken off the bandit. Just twenty gold pieces, and that had kept him fed and sheltered for more than a month. Five hundred times that much? It was beyond his comprehension.

"Yes, well, here's the truth of it. Ulric has grown so arrogant that he tells me he'll give me one last chance to recover both my pride and my fortune. If my next champion defeats his, he gives me his word that he'll restore the money I've lost. Not only that, he'll  _double_ it."

Lancelot's eyes widened in disbelief.

"I want  _you_ to be that champion. You see now, don't you? My small investment is nothing compared to what I stand to gain. Or what  _you_ stand to gain, for that matter. I'll pay you and pay you  _well_ if you'll do me this service."

"My lord... fight for  _money?_ To the death?" Just saying the words left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Of course! Why not? Someone with your skill could easily become a rich man. Perhaps you didn't know any of this before, which makes your low ambitions understandable. But now that I've offered you the possibility, why would you hesitate?"

 _I'd hesitate because it's a vile, dishonorable thing to do,_  he thought to himself in disgust. Defense and protection were the  _only_ acceptable reasons for killing another man. He'd based his entire life around that belief, honing his skills to be used for the protection of the innocent... a  _noble_ purpose.

The thought of using his sword for his own profit made him feel sick.

"Forgive me, my lord, but I must decline."

Lord Elbert looked at him in shock for a moment, then quickly recovered. "Maybe I didn't make myself clear about your payment. I'm willing to offer you two hundred gold. Two hundred gold for one fight. Only a fool would pass up such an offer."

He hesitated. Dishonorable or not, that much gold would mean  _months_ where he wouldn't have to worry about going hungry or sleeping out in the cold. He could replace his weapon and armor, purchase a good horse, then devote all his energies to finding a suitable position for himself.

"Two hundred and  _fifty_ gold!"

Why was fighting for money such an appalling idea? It wasn't as if he'd be attacking an innocent person. He'd be facing an equally armed fighter of considerable skill who'd fully understand the risk he was taking. Was that  _really_ so terrible?

 _You know it is,_ a tiny voice inside of him whispered.  _This goes against everything you've ever stood for._

" _Three_ hundred," Lord Elbert said in a persuasive voice. "But that's as high as I go."

 _I only have to do it once,_  he told himself firmly.  _One_ dishonorable fight, in exchange for the means to seek out a better life for himself. He couldn't do that when he had no money and it was all he could do just to survive. This might be the only opportunity he'd have to improve his circumstances. Even if he didn't like it, he couldn't just turn it down.

With that thought, he let out a heavy sigh. "I accept, my lord."

* * *

Unable to sleep, Lancelot paced restlessly across the chamber. His conscience had begun to plague him with doubts, though they were quickly silenced by the sheer inevitability of it all. Did it really matter how he felt about the fight? He'd agreed to it now – it wasn't like he could go back on his word.

 _I'll just have to get through it,_  he told himself firmly.  _In a few days, it will be behind me, and I can leave this place._

Another thought occurred to him then... but this wasn't one he could dismiss so easily. What if he lost the fight? What if he was killed?

It hadn't even crossed his mind while he'd been in Lord Elbert's company, but suddenly, it was the  _only_ thing he could think about.  _This man will be a champion who has defeated many before me. What if he's beyond my skill?_

He wasn't afraid of death, but memories of Camelot flashed through his mind, making his heart ache with regret. Deep down, somewhere beneath all his doubts and worries, he'd never stopped believing he would return someday... that it was only a matter of time before he'd be with Gwen and Merlin again.

 _I haven't even written to them,_  he thought with a stab of guilt.  _Not once. If I'm killed, they'll never know what happened or how much they meant to me. It'll always seem as if I left them behind and never looked back._

It had been impossible to send word during the months he'd spent wandering alone in the wilderness. He might have written while staying at the inn in Oakview, but he'd spent most of his time there trying to recover his strength after going without food or proper shelter for so long.

But now? He had to get a message to them. This might be his only chance.

Finding materials to write with turned out to be surprisingly easy, as one quick search of the room yielded both quill and parchment. Finding the words was far more difficult; he struggled for hours to write goodbye letters that wouldn't sound like he was actually saying goodbye.

But somehow, both messages had been signed and sealed by the time the first rays of sunlight began to pour through the window.

He fell into an exhausted sleep right there at the table, only to be woken an hour later when Millie brought his breakfast. Her quiet presence might not have disturbed him at all if she hadn't stumbled, dropping the empty platter she'd been carrying with a loud clatter.

"Oh," she cried out as he jumped up in alarm. "I'm so sorry! Please..."

She was looking at him in stark terror again, an expression Lancelot was beginning to despise. He took a couple steps closer and she cringed, holding up both hands to ward him off.

"N-no, please, it was an accident!"

"I know, Millie. I just don't understand why you're so afraid of me," he said with a tired sigh. "I wasn't threatening you. I only wanted to make sure you were all right."

Hesitantly, she dropped her hands.

"Have I done something to make you feel ill at ease in my presence? If I have, tell me and I'll make amends."

"No! I'm sorry... please don't think it's anything you've done. It's just the way I am sometimes, that's all."

He nodded, still concerned but unwilling to press her further when she already seemed so uncomfortable.

"I can accept that," he said with a reassuring smile. "As long as you promise to tell me if it ever  _does_ have anything to do with me. I'd like to be given the opportunity to apologize for whatever behavior you might find offensive."

Tentatively, she smiled back at him. "I... all right."

She left him alone to eat after that, moving quietly around the chamber as she straightened his bed linens and gathered discarded clothing. As she started to leave, however, he suddenly remembered the letters.

"Millie, wait! I wanted to ask you a favor."

When she turned around, he was glad to see that the look in her eyes was only quizzical, showing no trace of her earlier fear.

"I have a couple messages I'd like to send. Would you mind taking care of it for me?"

Suddenly, she looked wary. "I'm not sure..."

Lancelot frowned. "I understand if it's too much trouble. I'm sorry, forget I asked. I can speak to Lord Elbert about it later."

"No! I'll do it. The master hates to be bothered with small matters. Give them to me and let's speak nothing more of it."

"Thank you," he said gratefully, handing her the letters and watching as she hid them deep in the pocket of her apron. "I wouldn't presume to ask, but they're very important to me."

"I understand," she told him with a small smile as she exited the chamber. "I'll see that it's taken care of."


	30. A New Purpose

#  **Chapter 30: A New Purpose**

* * *

Gwen knew nothing but pain and isolation during the terrible months that followed her father's death. Somehow she managed to keep her composure on the outside, burying her grief as she threw herself into her duties with all the strength she had.

It was a trait she'd inherited from Tom, a tendency to cope with sorrow through physical activity. Her father had barely left his forge for weeks after her brother had snuck away from Camelot in the middle of night. Never had he produced finer weapons or more beautiful sets of armor than he had during that time.

It was similar for Gwen. She kept Morgana's chambers spotless and her clothing immaculate, mending her dresses so swiftly that she never had to wait even a day before she could wear them again. Gwen worked so diligently, in fact, that she often ran out of chores long before the day was through.

In the past, she might have stayed with Morgana for hours after her work was done, sharing a long, pleasant conversation or joining her on a leisurely trip to the lower town to browse the latest wares. She'd always looked forward to the time they spent together, just as she knew Morgana did.

These days, however, she withdrew with a hasty farewell as soon as her tasks were completed, trying not to notice the hurt expression on Morgana's face as she fled her company without explanation. She couldn't help herself; the need to escape was so urgent it was as if the palace were on fire.

She hated herself for the way she was behaving, but she was terrified that if she shared her grief or even allowed anyone to  _talk_ to her on a personal level, all the pain she'd fought so desperately to hide would be laid open like a gaping wound that she wouldn't be able to close again.

As long as she didn't have to acknowledge her feelings, she could keep them buried deep inside where she didn't have to deal with them at all. That was the best way she knew of to focus on her duties and make it through the day without breaking down.

Unfortunately, nights were not so easy.

Sometimes she was lucky, too exhausted from the day's hard work to do anything other than curl up in bed and fall asleep as soon as she arrived home.

Most nights, however, she lay awake weeping until dawn in her empty house, wondering how it was possible to feel so lost and utterly alone without losing her mind.

The hardest part to bear was the silence. Always in the past, she'd been lulled to sleep by the muffled sound of a blacksmith's hammer pounding out weapons at the nearby forge. A gentle clanging of iron on steel had been her lullaby for as long as she could remember.

Now, she heard nothing.

It was some months later that her sorrow abruptly faded, replaced by helpless anger. As she wandered around the house late one night, too restless for sleep, she came to the unpleasant realization that every man she'd ever loved had deserted her. They'd all left her behind... and for  _what?_

Her father, Elyan, Lancelot... each had disappeared from her life due to choices they'd made without her knowledge or consent. Worse, those had been decisions they'd come to not only for themselves, but on her behalf as well.

Well, perhaps not Elyan. He'd never pretended to be anything other than an irresponsible young man who thought only of himself. There was some small comfort in knowing that at least _his_ absence in her life didn't have anything to do with a decision he'd made "for her own good."

Nonetheless, she was deeply hurt that her brother still hadn't responded to the devastating news about their father. Didn't he want to be at her side during such a difficult time? Couldn't he put aside his selfishness long enough to at least send a word of comfort if he couldn't come himself?

As for Tom, she couldn't hold him responsible for his own death. No, that tragedy was on Uther's shoulders, the heartless tyrant. But she could certainly question the poor judgment that had led to his terrible execution in the first place.

Why had he gotten himself involved in shady business dealings without even  _talking_ to her about what he was doing? Why had he decided for himself that she even needed fine things, or that she required a better life? He'd put himself at risk over something she'd never even  _asked_ for and hadn't wanted in the first place!

And Lancelot… he'd also seemed to believe he knew what was best for her, leaving behind a letter that insisted she deserved something better than what he could give.

_I'd never presume to ask for your heart unless I had so much more to offer than what I am in this moment._

Gwen had read those words over and over as written by his own hand. She'd heard them echo in her mind a hundred times afterwards, having memorized every last line of his letter. In the past, the things he'd said had always given her a great deal of comfort.

This was the first time they'd ever made her furious.

 _Are all men like this?_  she wondered angrily as she paced around the room.  _Do they just decide for themselves what's best for a woman without even caring how she might feel about it?_

And then she sank to the floor and burst into tears, realizing that if either Lancelot or her father had ever just asked her what she wanted, she never would've lost them.

Her father might have been working at his forge this very moment if he'd understood she only needed the most basic necessities to keep her happy. They'd had a safe home and plenty to eat, along with warm clothing and even a small amount of savings. Hadn't that been _enough?_

And Lancelot... if only he'd given her the chance, she could've told him that it didn't matter to her whether he was an honored knight or a humble pig farmer in some outlying village. She'd wanted him for himself, not some better life he might be able to offer her if his circumstances had improved.

Granted, she could've accepted the necessity of being separated from him if he'd needed to go out in the world and do those things for his own sake. She would've been happy to wait for him faithfully while he'd achieved his dreams. But all his talk of being  _unworthy_... instructing her  _not_ to wait for him instead of trusting her to make that choice for herself? Telling her how much he cared, then choosing to withhold his feelings unless  _his_ conditions for the life he thought she deserved were satisfied?

Why had he felt it was  _his_ right to make those decisions for her? Did he think she was some simpleminded fool who didn't know what was best for herself?

She let out a heavy sigh, deciding it didn't matter how she felt about it anyway. It had been a year now and she'd heard  _nothing_ from him. If he still cared for her, it was impossible to believe he wouldn't have returned for a visit or at least found a way to send a message by now.

No, the past was gone. She needed to accept that she'd probably never see him again and put her feelings behind her. In addition to that, she had to come to terms with the death of her father, forgive the absence of her brother... even reconcile the rage she felt toward Uther somehow.

She'd wallowed in loneliness and grief for far too long. Instead of spending so much time thinking about all she'd lost, she needed to remember everything she still had. Her thoughts should be on people like Morgana and Merlin... friends she loved who'd  _never_ deserted her. It wasn't right to neglect them over the ones who'd walked away.

No, there was no use dwelling on a past that couldn't be changed. Yesterday was gone... but the future was full of possibility.

* * *

"My lady, can we talk?" she asked hesitantly after she finished her chores the following day. The question was met with a look of surprise, immediately followed by a relieved smile.

"Of course, Gwen! I've been hoping... well, nevermind. Let's sit and have some wine, shall we?"

After they'd settled themselves on the bed and goblets had been filled, she looked down and twisted her hands in her lap. "I-I wanted to apologize for my behavior these past few months. I know I've been shutting you out and I'm sorry. I just couldn't..."

Her words were interrupted as gentle fingers reached out to lift her chin. She lifted her eyes to meet a soft blue gaze that was filled with understanding, sympathy and... was that  _guilt?_

"You don't have to apologize," Morgana said quietly. "Believe me, I know what it's like to lose a father and to hold Uther responsible for that loss. When I was brought here after Gorlois died, I didn't speak to anyone for  _weeks_. It was Arthur who finally pulled me out of it."

"Arthur?" Gwen said in surprise. "How?"

"He put a sword in my hand and taunted me mercilessly. His jeers and insults accomplished what all the sympathetic words in the world could not do. They gave me an excuse to release my anger. Arthur was the only person who somehow understood exactly what I needed."

"Wow, it's difficult to imagine Arthur..."

"Being so sensitive? Yes, well, he has his good points when he's not busy acting like an arrogant prat. Just don't ever tell him I said something nice about him or I'll never hear the end of it."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Morgana chuckled briefly, then her face grew serious. "I wanted to help you, Gwen, I just didn't know how. It seemed best to give you your space until you were ready to talk. I didn't want to intrude on your grief."

"I know, you don't have to explain. Honestly, there was nothing anyone could have done. I had to get through the worst of it on my own."

Morgana looked away and took a large sip of wine, not meeting her eyes when she spoke again. "To tell you the truth, I've spent a lot of time blaming myself. So much that I started to fear you might feel the same way."

"Morgana! How could you even think such a thing? You did everything you could to try and save my father. I'm the one who bandaged your poor wrists after you spent the night shackled to a dungeon wall!"

"I know, Gwen, but..."

"No one could have done more," she insisted firmly. "Please, I can't stand the thought of you feeling guilty over something that wasn't even your fault. Uther... well, you know there's no stopping him when magic is involved."

Something dark flitted behind Morgana's eyes. "His cruelty is likely to get him killed one of these days.  _That_ would stop him."

Gwen shifted uncomfortably. "Perhaps that's true, but I'd never wish it upon him no matter what he's done. Besides, it wouldn't change what has already happened."

Morgana's face softened. "You have a good heart, Gwen. Yes, maybe I made the right decision when I didn't... well, nevermind. It's a beautiful day outside. Shall we go down to the lower town for a while?"

"That would be lovely," she responded with a smile.

* * *

As the two women wandered through the streets of Camelot, Gwen felt as if she were truly seeing the city for the first time in months. It was especially beautiful with the sun just beginning to set beneath the horizon, bathing the stone walls of the palace in shades of crimson and gold.

She smiled at the people they passed – guards and servants, merchants and craftsmen, mothers and fathers and children. Most were faces she knew, many of whom called out greetings or smiled warmly as she and Morgana walked by.

 _How did I spend so many months feeling as if I were alone?_  she wondered to herself. All these people meant a great deal to her, whether she was well acquainted with them or not. Camelot... was there anywhere else in the world that was filled with so much love and kindness?

Suddenly, she remembered one terrible night during the worst of her grief. Believing she couldn't bear to look upon Uther's face after what he'd done, she'd decided to leave. She'd packed a small bag and saddled her gentle old mare, riding beyond the city gates in the middle of the night.

She'd gone perhaps a mile or two before the full moon had disappeared behind a mass of clouds, casting the world into darkness. Terrified, she'd been forced to stop, clinging to her horse's mane and shivering as the sounds of distant howling had echoed all around her.

The moment she'd been able to see again, she had turned the horse around and galloped straight back to the safety of the only home she'd ever known.

At the time, she'd cursed herself for a coward. It was only now that she realized she'd done the right thing. Perhaps it had been a sign, showing her that Camelot was the light in her world... and that beyond it lay only darkness and uncertainty.

She'd never been much of a believer in signs and omens. Always practical, she put her faith in the things she could see, touch, and feel. But where that night was concerned, at least, it was hard to deny the feeling that she'd been guided by invisible forces beyond her understanding.

While she still felt pangs of anger and bitterness whenever she saw Uther these days, she was gradually finding a new way to cope with those feelings. The more she despised the king whenever she thought of her father's death or witnessed him executing some unjust policy, the more she began to invest her faith in Arthur.

Without even realizing it at first, she began to watch him more closely, becoming increasingly hopeful for a brighter time that would be within his power to bring about someday. Whenever he showed even a hint of kindness or wisdom, her heart would swell with possibility.

All the good intentions she felt for the people she loved expanded, enveloping everyone who crossed her path as she hoped for a better future for them all. She yearned for a kingdom where innocent people like her father could live without fear... a world where even the most humble citizen would be treated with fairness and mercy, not cruelty and injustice.

And as time passed and her heart began to heal, she turned her eyes to the future, slowly rebuilding her destroyed hopes and laying them all in Arthur's hands.


	31. Dishonorable Intentions

#  **Chapter 31: Dishonorable Intentions**

* * *

A  _cage?_ Lancelot hesitated, staring at the iron bars in front of him in dismay.

"Hope you're not losing your nerve, boy!" Lord Elbert called in a mocking voice. "Go on, get in there!"

A cage meant to contain him and his opponent as if they were feral dogs or baited bears... creatures so mindlessly vicious that they had to be kept safely removed from the men they would entertain. Humiliated at the thought, he couldn't quite bring himself to step inside.

The two lords sat at a high trestle table, feasting on a haunch of roasted boar as they talked and laughed, seeming more like close friends than longtime rivals. All around them, a ragtag collection of rough looking men dressed in ragged skins and filthy leathers shouted and jeered, impatient for the fight to begin.

"Elbert, my friend!" Lord Ulric exclaimed with a snort of laughter. "What sort of champion is this? You expect me to believe this boy can put up a decent fight? Seems more likely to piss himself, if you ask me. Look at him cowering!"

"Aye!" called an ugly blond haired man with a scraggly beard and a missing front tooth. "I'll put twenty gold on the other man... and I haven't even seen him yet!"

The room erupted into laughter as other voices joined in, yelling out insults that became increasingly merciless as Lancelot flushed red with anger and humiliation.

"Look at him puff up!" the blond man snickered, moving closer to poke him roughly in the stomach. "Guess even a coward like him has..."

Without warning, he was lying flat on the ground, knocked unconscious by a lightning quick blow to the jaw. Lancelot gave his prone body a dismissive look, then stepped over it and entered the cage. Lord Elbert roared in approval.

"See?" he commented smugly to Lord Ulric. "The mistake you make is assuming the bigger man is always the better one. Lancelot here is about to show you otherwise. Come, bring on this great champion of yours!"

 _"RALF!"_  Lord Ulric bellowed.

Lancelot unsheathed his sword and waited, watching dispassionately as a hulking man pushed his way through the crowd and ducked to enter the cage.

Ralf was big, at least a head taller than Lancelot himself, with a barrel chest and thick arms that were heavily corded with dense muscle. His black hair hung in limp, greasy strings in front of his face... a face that was disfigured with dozens of battle scars. Thin lip curled in a sneer, he stared at Lancelot with cold, colorless eyes.

 _If I'm meant to die at this man's hands, then I will die,_  Lancelot told himself as he faced his opponent.  _If I manage to live, I'll take my gold and make a better life for myself. Either way, I only have to do this once._

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he gripped the hilt of his sword more tightly and waited.

" _Begin!_ " Lord Elbert shouted in a commanding voice.

The two men began to circle one another, each taking measure of his opponent as he searched for an advantage. Lancelot ignored the eager faces pressing up against the bars of the cage as they called out vicious taunts meant to goad one man or the other into action.

" _Blood_ , Ralf!" a voice cried out in frustration. "Come on, we want to see  _blood!_ "

Ralf responded by rushing forward with his sword raised above his head, bringing it down with a whooshing sound as Lancelot stepped quickly aside to avoid the blow. He swung his own sword around in a graceful arc, drawing first blood as the point of his weapon drew a long, narrow scratch along the other man's side.

Growling, Ralf came at him a second time and Lancelot feinted, pretending to aim a blow even as he swerved his body backward to avoid impact. Propelled forward by the momentum of his attack, Ralf crashed against the bars of the cage and staggered before regaining his balance.

Like most unusually large men, Ralf was overconfident and focused almost entirely on offensive strategy. Knowing there were few who could match him for sheer strength, he didn't try to conserve his energy so he might last through a long fight. After all, he knew he only had to score one direct hit and his opponent would be dead on the ground at his feet.

Unfortunately for him, finding an opening to  _land_ that blow while fighting a man like Lancelot was proving to be a very difficult matter.

Lancelot was moderately strong for his size, but his real talent lay in his quickness and clever mind. Recognizing this advantage, he easily avoided one assault after another, ducking aside or dancing out of the way as Ralf roared in fury. He concentrated on defense, patiently allowing the larger man to tire himself with countless slashes and slices through empty air.

"What are you waiting for, you dumb shit?" Lord Ulric shouted as Ralf staggered wearily around the cage in pursuit of Lancelot. "Finish the little bastard!"

Both men panted heavily from exertion, dripping with sweat and blood from countless cuts and scratches. Lancelot had more stamina than his opponent, but he could feel himself beginning to tire. He knew it was time to end it, while he still had enough energy to rely upon his own quickness.

When Ralf rushed at him again, he brought his sword up under the man's overhanded swing, burying it deep in his chest. Withdrawing the blade as swiftly as he'd driven it in, he watched with a feeling of weary relief as Ralf stared at him in shock, then fell to his knees, pitched forward and lay still.

The room filled with the thunder of enthusiastic applause as he wiped the blood from his sword and exited the cage. Men who'd insulted him just a short time before now cheered wildly, shouting out approval and clapping him on the back as they complimented his incredible skill. He shrugged them off, ignoring their praise as he came to stand before Lord Elbert.

"My lord," he said with a small bow.

Lord Elbert was beaming with satisfaction. "Well done, Lancelot! Well done indeed! Here, sit down and have a mug of ale. You've earned it, my boy!"

Lancelot had no interest in celebration. He only wanted to receive his payment so he might retire to his chamber for a hot bath and a good night's rest. It had been a hard fight, the indignity of the experience draining him emotionally just as it had exhausted him physically. Unfortunately, it seemed the sleep he so desperately needed would have to wait.

"Come on, take a seat!" Lord Ulric agreed. "I'm not such a sore loser that I can't enjoy my friend's triumph, especially since it happens so seldom. Let's drink and make the most of it!"

Not wanting to cause offense, he reluctantly took a seat at the table and accepted a cup of ale. He drank thirstily as the two lords talked, trying to ignore his annoyance over the way Lord Elbert gloated, as if he'd personally driven the blade through Ralf's chest and had won the fight based on his own merits.

"There were none who could match your Ralf for strength, it's true," Lord Elbert remarked with a smug expression. "But in the end, it all comes down to swift reflexes and a keen mind. Haven't I been telling you that for years, Ulric? Now I've proven my point."

Lord Ulric snorted derisively. "If it's really that simple, why have you lost so much gold to me? Why have I watched your champions fall again and again when pitted against mine?"

"Just hadn't found the right man yet. Men like your Ralf, big, stupid, and too strong for their own good, are as plentiful as trees in the forest. Fighters like Lancelot here are much more difficult to find. Now that I have him, I challenge you to find one who can best him for swiftness and strategy."

"Care to make a wager on that?"

Lancelot shifted uncomfortably in his chair, dismayed at the realization that both men seemed to expect him to remain here and fight again for their entertainment. No... as soon as he received his payment and had an opportunity to rest, he had every intention of leaving this place forever.

There seemed to be no tactful way to say this, however, so he remained quiet and endured the rest of the conversation. He began to feel sleepy after several cups of ale, nodding off several times right there at the table before Lord Elbert finally took pity on him and sent him off to his chamber.

"Yes, go and get yourself some rest, Lancelot. You need to keep up your strength!"

He stood and cleared his throat awkwardly. "My lord, forgive me, but... my payment?"

"Oh, yes, of course! How forgetful of me. I don't have it on me at the moment, but I'll bring it by your chamber in the morning. Put it from your mind for tonight and get some sleep. It'll be taken care of tomorrow, you have my word on that."

Lancelot had no other choice but to nod in agreement. "Thank you, my lord. If you'll excuse me..."

He rose and exited the room, so weary that he practically stumbled up the stairs and through the corridors. Stripping off his scabbard, mail, and padding as he entered the chamber, he fell across the large bed and drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

He awoke with a start a few hours later, sitting up and blinking in confusion as his eyes searched the blackness. All was silent for a few heartbeats and then there it was again – a soft, scuffling sound. He instinctively reached for his sword, cursing inwardly as he remembered he had dropped it beside the chamber door.

"Who's there?" he said in a cautious whisper. "What do you want?"

A tiny flame suddenly flared in the darkness as a candle was ignited, illuminating the face of his mysterious visitor. "Don't be afraid," she murmured softly. "It's only me."

"Millie? What...? It's the middle of the night. Why are you here?"

"I-I was supposed to come to you before you retired, but I accidentally fell asleep," she replied as she stared down at the floor. "I was ordered to service you tonight. Please, you can do what you will with me now, just don't tell the master that I didn't come earlier. The consequences would be severe."

Lancelot frowned in confusion. "I don't understand. You bring my meals and tend to my needs... hot baths, clean chambers, fresh clothing. I've wanted for nothing these past few weeks thanks to the services you provide. What could I possibly need at this hour?"

Millie raised her eyes and looked at him in bewilderment. "I-I've never had to answer that question before. Every other man just assumes... well, it's no matter. If I must explain, it's my duty to service the champions when they defeat a challenger. The master insists upon it."

A horrible realization began to dawn on Lancelot, even as he tried to push the thought away. "You can't possibly mean...?"

"My orders are to pass the night in your bed."

He sucked in a sharp breath as his suspicions were confirmed. "No, Millie.  _No_. It doesn't matter what your orders are. I cannot... I  _will_ not..."

She looked at him in surprise and dismay, clearly not expecting a refusal. Her cheeks colored in embarrassment as she lowered her head. "If you don't like my appearance, I can always blow the candle out. It won't matter in the darkness and I-I know how to please a man very well. Really, I do."

"You think that's why... good lord, has no one ever declined such an offer simply because he didn't wish to take advantage of you? Because he might be appalled at the idea of you being  _forced_ to..." he trailed off and shook his head.

"No. Men want what they want. They know I'm here to take care of their needs, so they don't question it further."

"But what about what  _you_ want?" he said angrily. "You're telling me Lord Elbert just  _makes_ you do this and no one cares whether you're willing or not? They just use you for their own pleasure and that's it?"

"If you're worried that I might resist you or seem unwilling..." she started hesitantly, seating herself on the bed beside him and placing a tentative hand in his lap.

He pushed her hand away, cursing in frustration. " _No!_  That isn't even..." he stopped and sputtered before he continued. "Believe it or not, there are men who'd never even consider taking you to their bed unless you came to them by your own choice. Not  _pretending_ to be willing because of... consequences?  _What_ consequences? What could be worse than being used this way?"

"There are worse things," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Believe me, there are worse things."

Speechless, he stared at her with a mixture of pity, horror, and fury. "Tell me," he said, trying to sound gentle as he reached out to lay what was meant to be a comforting hand on her back. She winced and jerked away as if his touch had burned her.

"No, I-I cannot," she said with terror in her eyes. "I've said far too much already. I should've known better. I never speak a word to anyone who passes through here. It's safer that way. But you... I could see you were different. You were kind and and didn't mistreat me, and how do I repay you? I endanger us both with my foolishness."

"I don't understand. What do you expect me to do with what you've told me? How have you endangered  _me?_ If anything,  _you_ seem to be in need of help. But I can't begin to figure out what I can do to assist you if you won't even tell me..."

"No!" she said harshly as she rose to her feet. "Please, say nothing more. Even if I  _was_ willing to accept your help, which I'm not, there's nothing you could do.  _Nothing_. There's no changing it. If you really mean what you say, the best you can do is keep everything I've said to yourself. Can you do that?"

"Yes, of course," he said slowly. "But..."

"Please, I have to go. I'm sorry for... well, I'm sorry."

 _"Wait!"_  he called out, but it was too late as she rushed out of the room, slamming the chamber door behind her with a resounding thud.


	32. Chained and Bound

#  **Chapter 32: Chained and Bound**

* * *

Lancelot paced restlessly in the darkness, unable to sleep following his disturbing encounter with Millie. Dwelling on every word of their conversation, he was still struggling to come to terms with the shocking revelation that she'd been forced to go to bed with countless men upon Lord Elbert's orders.

Even worse, if she'd been able to tell him something so dreadful with relative ease, what of all the things she  _couldn't_ bring herself to say? A dozen horrors crossed his mind, even as he berated himself for his own ignorance.

Why hadn't he seen it before? The fear in her eyes should've made it obvious she'd been terribly mistreated, whether she'd said anything or not. And it wasn't just her either – the old healer, the serving boy? Every one of them had been terrified of the man they served!

He felt ashamed as he thought of all the little things he'd overlooked or excused, trying to see the best in the man.  _Why?_  Because he'd been at his mercy, too? Because he'd owed him a debt? That was no excuse... not when he might've been able to help the others.

But what could he do? He might be able to steal Millie away when he left, but would she even go with him? What if he asked and she refused? He couldn't bear the thought of staying in this place any longer, but he couldn't just leave her at the mercy of someone like Lord Elbert either. He wouldn't be able to live with himself.

Suddenly, another thought occurred to him... an idea that was distasteful at first, but soon appeared to be the perfect solution to his dilemma.

 _I could buy her,_  he mused to himself. Yes, why couldn't he just offer the gold he'd earned in exchange for ownership? Even if three hundred wouldn't be enough, surely he'd be allowed to make up the rest in the cage? He'd feel no shame in taking on another fight if it was to secure an innocent girl's freedom.

If Lord Elbert agreed, Millie would be bought and paid for with no choice but to leave with him. She might not like it at first, but when she realized he only meant to escort her to a safe place, all would be well. She seemed like a sweet girl... surely she must have friends or family somewhere who would welcome her with open arms.

Satisfied with that solution, he didn't stop to ask himself why a girl who'd had anywhere else in the world to go would be living in such miserable circumstances in the first place.

* * *

"Ah, there's my champion!" Lord Elbert said cheerfully as he barged into the chamber without knocking a few hours later. "I trust you slept well? Hope that little wench didn't wear you out too much!"

Lancelot sighed and closed his eyes. He'd been trying to put Millie from his mind, hoping he'd be able to resist the urge to break Lord Elbert's jaw the moment he saw him. The man certainly wasn't helping with that.

"Yes, my lord," he said in a stilted voice. "My night was most... enjoyable."

Lord Elbert grinned as he crossed the room and seated himself at a small table near the window. "Indeed! Nothing like a woman in your bed after a good fight, eh? Come and sit with me! Let's talk."

"My lord, I wanted to ask you about..." he started as he sat down, the mention of Millie in such a distasteful manner making him even more anxious to secure her freedom.

"Your gold. Yes, yes, I've brought it with me as promised. At least grant me the courtesy of allowing me to speak before you demand your payment? You'll have it when I'm ready."

"Forgive me, my lord," he mumbled reluctantly, already suspecting what was to come and not looking forward to the conversation.

Lord Elbert pulled a flask from the pocket of his tunic, taking a long drink before he began to talk.

"I must say, Lancelot, you're an even better fighter than I imagined. Your swiftness, your strategy... well, I don't have to tell you how good you are. Let me just say that I intend on bringing you into my service permanently. Gold and glory, boy. What do you say?"

"My lord, I appreciate the offer, but this isn't a life I'd choose for myself. I mean no offense to you, but I intend to be on my way as soon as I have the gold to secure my journey."

Pulling a tiny leather purse from his pocket, the other man threw it on the table with a bark of laughter. "There's your payment. Count it for yourself and then tell me how far you expect it to take you."

He frowned in confusion as he pulled the drawstring, watching as a small handful of gold pieces spilled out across the table. " _Nine gold?_  What is this, my lord? I don't understand. You said..."

"I said three hundred gold. Yes, I most certainly did. Well, there was the one hundred and fifty gold I paid as your purchase price. Ten gold for the services of my healer. Twenty gold per week for your food and lodging for the past month. Fifty gold for your sword, clothing and armor. Oh yes, and one gold coin to pay for that little whore you bedded last night."

"I thought..." Lancelot stared at him in disbelief, clenching his hands under the table as he fought to control his rising fury. "You led me to  _believe_..."

Lord Elbert snorted derisively. "I didn't  _lead_ you to believe anything. I just mentioned some impressive sum of gold and you agreed to fight. Is it  _my_ fault that you lacked the wisdom to ask questions beforehand?"

When he only shook his head in helpless denial, the other man continued.

"Surely you agree that I've provided well for your needs. Must I remind you of everything I've done on your behalf? You owed me a debt and now that debt is paid off. You'll earn more next time. Gold you'll get to keep for yourself… aside from fees for room and board, of course."

He was seething with anger as he stared into the cold black eyes that were gazing back at him in smug satisfaction. He'd been intentionally misled and they both knew it... just as they knew Lancelot's debt was inflated to ridiculous proportions. But what could he do about it now?

 _I could put my sword through his throat,_  he thought viciously.  _I could strike him dead right where he sits and not waste a moment of regret on the act. A man like this deserves to die._

Lord Elbert seemed to sense the direction of his thoughts as he shouted out a word of command; the door burst open and four heavily armed guards entered the chamber. One leaned down to pick up Lancelot's sword, giving him a knowing smirk as he tucked it into his belt.

"Entertaining thoughts of killing me?" Lord Elbert said with a chuckle of amusement. "Perhaps this would be an ideal time to point out that I can have a dozen men on you with a snap of my fingers. Got it? Now settle your temper so we can come to a more civil agreement."

"I will not reach any  _agreement_ with you. Not if it means having to remain under obligation to you for a minute longer than I've already wasted here. I'll take my gold, as little as it is, and be on my way."

It was only when the other man spoke again that Lancelot learned what it truly meant to be powerless.

"Oh dear," Lord Elbert said with an exaggerated sigh. "Here I was hoping this could be a friendly arrangement. Unfortunately, I'm now obligated to admit that I plan on keeping you in my service for as long as I please, with or without your consent. And if you're still intent on defying me, you'll be facing consequences you haven't even begun to imagine."

" _What_ consequences? I'm not afraid of you," Lancelot spat back as he rose out of his chair. "Do you intend to kill me if I don't do as you command? Go ahead! I'd rather die than serve a man like you!"

"Oh, if it was only that simple. Guards! Restrain him while I tell him the rest. I'm afraid this information might be a bit of a blow, and I don't want him doing anything he might come to regret."

Lancelot struggled in vain as the guards shoved him roughly back into his seat, swearing viciously as they clapped iron manacles around his wrists and ankles.

"Are we good now, or shall I have you gagged as well? I never imagined someone with your fine manners would have such a filthy mouth on him! Very impressive... though I'd rather hear a few of your prettier words at the moment."

Lord Elbert grinned as he fished in the pocket of his tunic again, withdrawing his flask along with several sheets of folded parchment. Feeling a sickening lurch in his stomach, Lancelot recognized his own handwriting on the outside of the letters.

The first one was opened with a flourish. " _Dear Merlin,"_ the other man read in a mocking voice. " _I am sincerely sorry I haven't written to you sooner. After all you've done for me, I should have made more of an effort to..._  blah, blah, blah. Well, you know how it goes. This Merlin means a great deal to you, doesn't he?"

Shaking his head in denial, Lancelot struggled against his restraints, hardly able to bear the sound of his friend's name coming from such a despicable mouth.

"No?" Lord Elbert looked at him in mock surprise, then glanced at the letter again and poked at it with a fat finger. "But it says right here that you wish for nothing more than to see him again someday. You're telling me that's a lie?"

 _"Stop it,"_ he growled from between clenched teeth. "What is the point of this? Those letters have  _nothing_ to do with..."

"Quiet! Where are your courtesies, Lancelot? Don't you know it's rude to interrupt someone who's trying to read? Now where was I... oh yes. Your dear friend Merlin. Well, no use dwelling on this one when the other letter is so much more intriguing. Let's get to it, shall we?"

" _No!_ Leave it or I swear on my life, I'll…"

"Guards? How about a gag for our friend here? Afraid he's going to need it for this one." Lord Elbert's expression was positively gleeful as he watched Lancelot sputter against the dirty fabric. "Yes, that's perfect. Now let's continue..."

" _My dearest Guinevere,"_ he began to read, placing a hand over his heart. _"I cannot begin to hope you'll forgive me for not sending word before now. Please know that I've spent every day we've been apart wishing there was a way to tell you how much you mean to me..."_ he trailed off, giving a loud sniffle and pretending to wipe a tear from his eye.

_"... need to say what I should have said from the moment I first knew the truth of it."_

He broke off to take a drink from his flask, then cleared his throat dramatically. One of the guards snickered in the background as Lancelot cringed, knowing what was coming next.

_"I loved you from the moment I met you, Gwen. You must believe me when I tell you that will never change, no matter how long we might be apart or what the future may hold..."_

Lord Elbert folded the parchment and pretended to use it to dab at his eyes.  _He'll die for this,_  Lancelot swore to himself, shaking with helpless fury.  _One way or another, he'll die for this… and I'll be the one to kill him._

"Such a shame. You tell me that death is preferable to remaining in my service. But what of your Merlin and this... Gwen? Is your pride worth the price of  _their_ lives? Untie that gag! I want to hear his response."

Lancelot spat out the filthy fabric and leaned forward, fixing the other man with a deadly glare. "They're far beyond your reach, so do not hope to frighten me with your empty threats."

Lord Elbert let out a merry laugh. "Yes, I know. Safe in Camelot. I have their locations right here, carefully written on the outside of these letters by your own hand. Quite considerate of you to make it so easy for me, by the way. I see that one can be found in the quarters of the Court Physician..."

"There's  _nothing_ you can do to him. He's under the protection of Prince Arthur himself! If you tried to harm him, the Knights of Camelot would come down on you like..."

"If you say so," the other man said, giving him a patronizing smile. "Well, how about the girl then?  _She_ doesn't appear to be living in a palace. No, this letter is addressed to a house that's located right around the corner from a blacksmith's forge. Doesn't sound like a well guarded fortress to me."

 _He's just trying to frighten me into submission. What can he do from here? We must be more than fifty leagues away from Camelot!_ And yet the mere suggestion of anyone trying to hurt Gwen was enough to drive terror into Lancelot's heart. Even if there were no truth behind the words, he couldn't dismiss them so easily.

"I see that I have your attention. Good, very good. As I told you before, I am a  _very_ rich man. It would be a simple matter for me to hire any number of skilled assassins and send them off to Camelot."

Lancelot turned pale, staring at him in growing horror as a chill skittered up his spine.

"There's a man named Myror who's rumored to be exceptional. I'm told he moves like a shadow through the night, that no one ever sees him when he strikes. They say he's taken over a hundred lives, but of course, who can know for sure? Imagine it, Lancelot. Just picture a man like that setting his sights on your Gwen... perhaps when she's walking home in the darkness, or asleep in her bed with a window left ajar?"

He paused and let out a malicious chuckle. "Why I bet if I paid a little extra, I could even choose the method by which it's done! What do you think? A dagger across the throat would end it far too quickly, wouldn't you agree? How about a slow poisoning then? Yes, imagine the poor girl dying by inches as my assassin whispers in her ear that  _you_ are the cause of her suffering!"

" _Stop_ ," Lancelot uttered in a strangled voice. " _Please_. I'll do whatever it is you ask of me… anything you want. Just please, speak no more of this."

Lord Elbert nodded with an expression of smug satisfaction. "I thought you might say that."


	33. Small Comforts

#  **Chapter 33: Small Comforts**

* * *

"Leave him shackled to the chair," was the nonchalant command given to the guards. "He needs time to understand there are consequences for defying my wishes." 

Bound and helpless, Lancelot tried to swallow his distress as the chamber door slammed with a resounding thud behind Lord Elbert and his men. He heard the muffled sound of heavy footsteps fading away and then all was silent. 

Alone in the quiet chamber, he wondered how long he was meant to go without food or water. How many hours must he wait before he'd have access to a chamber pot again? 

The thought brought on an intense need to relieve himself. 

Daylight faded into darkness as he ignored the persistent ache of muscles that stiffened and cramped from lack of use. He pushed away the pain when his chafed wrists and ankles began to burn, rubbed raw beneath the cruel iron that held them fast. 

Those pains were nothing. No other discomfort compared with the unbearable thirst that came upon him as the hours passed. He licked his parched lips until they cracked and bled, groaning softly to himself as he fought back the overwhelming urge to call out and beg for water. 

_I will not do it. I will not give him the satisfaction._

Closing his eyes, he desperately searched his mind for some pleasant distraction that might make his current misery a little more bearable. He sighed in relief when it came to him almost instantly, appearing in the form of a woman who gazed up at him with a gentle smile. 

"Gwen."

She stepped forward into his arms without hesitation, nestling her head against his chest with a murmur of contentment. Breathing in the sweet scent of her hair, he held her close, stroking her dark curls before sliding his hands down to caress her back. 

"Oh, Gwen," he whispered, though he wasn't sure if he was speaking the words aloud or if they only echoed in his mind. "I'd do anything to protect you. There's nothing I wouldn't sacrifice to see you safe and happy..." 

But then his words trailed away at the small, strangled sound that came from the back of her throat. She pulled out of his embrace, then raised her head to stare at him with eyes full of fear and accusation. 

"Gwen, what is it?" he asked her in bewilderment. "What's wrong?" 

Her face twisted in anguish; she fell heavily to her knees before he could catch her, clawing at her throat as she gasped for air. He cried out, his voice ragged and filled with terror, dropping to the floor and reaching for her with shaking hands. 

As soon as he touched her, he felt her suffering like it was his own. His throat burned and tightened as he swallowed hard, setting his teeth against the agony as it drifted lower and began to gnaw viciously at the empty, aching void that had once been his stomach. 

_Good lord, he's poisoned her. No... no, please..._

He came awake with a start, shivering violently as the cool night breeze from the open window chilled his sweat dampened skin. Instinctively, he made to raise a hand to wipe the wetness from his face, cursing aloud when the iron shackle bit cruelly into his raw flesh. 

_Not poison,_ he realized as the terrifying dream faded away. _Only hunger and thirst. How much longer can I bear it before I go mad? Maybe he_ _**wants**_ _me to call out. Perhaps that would put an end to this?_

And yet he couldn't do it… not while he still had the strength to resist. 

His thoughts were interrupted by the soft sound of footsteps outside the chamber. Hope flared inside him as the door opened, admitting the blond serving boy who'd attended them at supper just a few nights before. 

"H-have you come to release me?" he asked, unable to manage more than a raspy whisper. 

"I'm sorry," the boy said quietly, gesturing at the chamber pot in his hand. "I wish I could, but my orders are only to..." 

Lancelot's rush of disappointment was quickly overpowered as he realized how desperately he needed to relieve himself. "I understand. Well, free my hands so I can see to my needs, please. I cannot wait much longer." 

The boy flushed crimson in embarrassment. "I don't have a key. I-I'm supposed to... the master told me to... he said I have to do it for you. He said to remind you that you can't even take a piss on your own if he chooses to forbid it. I'm sorry..." 

"Let's just get on with it then," Lancelot said gruffly. 

Setting his jaw, he stared at the ceiling while the boy unfastened his trousers and pulled him free, quite sure he'd never experienced anything so humiliating in his life. Attempting to maneuver around shackles that only allowed for a few inches of movement was an awkward process, but somehow, they managed to get it done. 

"Thank you," he said in the aftermath, his injured pride somewhat mollified by the overwhelming feeling of relief. "Could you give me some water before you go? Please, it's been hours." 

The boy hesitated, looking down at him with sympathy in his pale blue eyes. "I was ordered not to give you food or water, but..." he trailed off, muttering to himself as he crossed the room and retrieved a pitcher from the bedside table. 

Lancelot drank deeply as soon as the cup was held to his lips, nearly moaning aloud in pleasure as the cool liquid slid down his parched throat. The boy allowed him to drain one cup and then another, shooting furtive looks at the chamber door every now and again as he waited for him to satisfy his thirst. 

"Better?" he asked after a few minutes. "I can't do anything about food, but if you can just hold out until morning, they'll release you then. It won't be much longer now." 

"Do you really think they'll free me?" Lancelot asked hopefully. "How do you know?" 

"Because I've been through it myself," the boy responded bitterly. "Not once, but three times since I was brought here. Listen... take my advice and give him what he wants. Make him believe you're truly under his command. It's the only way to survive here."

* * *

When Lord Elbert and his men came to release Lancelot just after dawn, they found a captive who was humble and repentant. Satisfied by numerous apologies and promises of unquestioning obedience, Lord Elbert commanded his servants to bring a good breakfast and a hot bath, telling Lancelot almost kindly that he needed to rest up and recover his strength. 

In the weeks that followed, it was as if the terrible confrontation and subsequent imprisonment had never happened. Lancelot was treated as an honored guest and even found himself invited to dine with his captor each evening. 

Lord Elbert was not a difficult man to understand. All one had to do was flatter his ego, treat him like a king and be utterly humble in his presence and he was well satisfied. Despite his resentment for the man, it was a task Lancelot found almost mindlessly simple to perform. 

It was the blond boy who came to clean Lancelot's chambers every morning and brought his meals each day. He soon introduced himself as Jack; unlike Millie before him, he seemed to have little fear of speaking out against his master. 

"Expects everyone to treat him like royalty when he's not even a real lord," he grumbled to Lancelot one morning as he cleaned the windows. "The fat oaf! He's as common as you or me, just too rich for anyone to call him out on the lie." 

There'd been no sign of Millie for more than two weeks when Lancelot finally inquired as to her whereabouts. 

"The girl who was serving me before... what happened to her?" 

"Millie?" Jack scowled. "She's been ill. Wasn't the beating that did it, it was letting those wounds get infected. Feared she might not make it at first, but she's more or less recovered now." 

Lancelot stared at him in disbelief. " _Beating?_ What... why would anyone _beat_ her?" 

"You didn't know? Thought you would've seen for yourself when the master sent her to you right after it happened. Gave her ten lashes with the whip for defying him." 

_The letters..._ Lancelot thought to himself in horror. _Did I cause such a terrible thing to happen?_

"H-how did she defy him?" he said out loud. 

Jack shrugged carelessly, though there was anger in his pale eyes. "Refused to go to bed with Lord Ulric while he was here. That one isn't a real lord either, by the way. Anyway, Millie hates him. She's never said why, but I guess she figured punishment was better than letting him put his cock inside her." 

"And she was beaten for that? What an..." 

"Unfeeling piece of shit?" Jack helpfully supplied. "Yes, well, that's the master for you. Gives her away to any man he chooses without a second thought. Bad enough on its own, but far worse being as she's his own daughter."

* * *

Lancelot barely managed to control his fury when he joined Lord Elbert for supper that night. As the man feasted, drank, and chattered happily, he clenched his fists under the table until it hurt, somehow resisting the urge to reach across the table and choke the life out of him. 

"Got another fight for you tomorrow night. Think you can take this one easily, Lancelot! Fifty gold. What do you say?" 

"My lord, do you even have to ask?" he said, hoping the other man wouldn't notice that he spoke through clenched teeth. "You know I am yours to command." 

Lord Elbert grinned at him. "Well said, my boy! Forty gold will go to your room and board, of course, but that's ten you can keep. Or nine, if you'll be wanting the wench again." 

Suddenly, an idea started to form in his mind. "My lord, if I might ask... it's one gold per night for her? Is that only after a fight or...?" 

He was cut off by a roar of laughter. "In the mood for a good fuck, are you? Nothing wrong with that! Yes, if you're willing to pay, you can have her any night you want. Mostly sits around useless anyway, unless I'm entertaining a guest or decide to give her to the guards for a bit of sport. You want her in your bed tonight? She's all yours!" 

Lancelot took a deep breath, hoping what he was about to say wouldn't arouse suspicion. "If it's as you say, my lord, then I'd like to pay to have her _every_ night." 

"Are you joking?" Lord Elbert asked, peering at him skeptically. " _Every_ night? She's a cheap whore. Using her on occasion is one thing, but..." 

Swallowing hard, Lancelot forced himself to speak the words that were most likely to be convincing in his current situation. 

"I don't like going even a day without a woman in my bed," he said after a moment, attempting a leer he was quite sure was closer to a grimace. "She does the job as well as any other. Besides, if I get tired of her face, I can just blow the candles out. They're all the same in the dark, are they not?" 

Lord Elbert burst out laughing. "Seems you're right! Not many to choose from around these parts anyway, unless you're interested in those toothless old hags who work in the kitchens." 

Lancelot searched his mind for the crudest thing he could come up with. "I hear they suck cock even better when they're toothless," he said in mock thoughtfulness. "Perhaps I should reconsider..." 

Lord Elbert spit a mouthful of ale all over himself as he howled in amusement. "No need to sink _that_ low, my boy! If you want the little whore and are willing to pay, who am I to stop you? It's all profit for me. I'll have her sent to your chamber tonight." 

"Thank you, my lord," he said, letting out a sigh of relief.

* * *

It was well after midnight when Millie slipped quietly into the chamber, seeming much thinner than the last time he'd seen her. When she came closer to the bed, he could see the dark circles under her eyes, standing out in sharp relief against a face that was much too pale. His heart twisted in sympathy. 

"I-I'm told that you've chosen to pay for me to come to your bed every night," she said hesitantly as she reached up and began to unbutton her dress. "I'm told I must fulfill your every desire."

Lancelot cleared his throat uncomfortably. "It's my desire for you to come over here and go to sleep. Leave your clothes on."

"But you paid..."

"I'm paying to keep you safe in whatever way I can."

Millie stared at him in bewilderment. "I don't understand."

"As long as you're here with me, you're not at anyone else's mercy," he explained patiently. "Only mine... and I actually  _have_ some. Now come, let's get some sleep. You look as tired as I feel and I'm expected to fight tomorrow."

It was a large bed, so spacious that he didn't even feel it when she slipped beneath the covers and settled herself into a comfortable position. Even so, it was a strange feeling to find himself lying next to a woman, listening to her soft breathing in the darkness.

Lancelot had never pictured sharing a bed with anyone other than Gwen, whom he always imagined would be nestled comfortably in his arms... not lying stiffly beside him as an awkward silence hung heavy in the air.

"If you decide you want to..." Millie said softly, interrupting his thoughts. "If you feel the need during the night, I won't refuse you. You've paid for it, after all."

"I know you wouldn't refuse," he responded shortly. "That's exactly why I wouldn't do it."

"You'd rather me put up a fight? I can do that if that's what you'd prefer. You wouldn't be the first man to..."

He sighed wearily. "That's not what I meant. Go to sleep, Millie."

A few minutes passed before his eyes finally grew heavy and drifted closed. He was nearly asleep when she took a deep breath and spoke again.

"Lancelot?"

"Yes?" he mumbled drowsily.

"Thank you."


	34. The Power of Need

#  **Chapter 34: The Power of Need**

* * *

Lancelot gingerly lowered himself into a seat at the table and reached for a cup of ale. Had this been his seventh time in the cage, or his eighth? He couldn't seem to remember anymore. It was all starting to blur together in his mind, a succession of nameless faces that had fallen beneath his sword in a seemingly endless fight for survival.

Week after week, he'd been left bruised and bloody in the aftermath, all for the price of a few gold coins.

"I wonder why he bothers to pay me at all," he'd remarked one evening after Lord Elbert had cheerfully delivered one of his pitifully small payments. "He knows I have to do as he commands either way. Why not keep it for himself?"

Millie had snorted in response. "As long as he pays you _something_ , he can convince himself it's a fair exchange. He does that with all of us, you know. I'm given five silver for every night I sleep here in your chamber."

"Five silver?" he'd gaped at her in disbelief. "That's not even..."

"No different than you receiving five gold in payment for fights where he earns five hundred. How do you think he got so rich?"

Lancelot finished his cup and poured himself another, staring moodily at nothing as he contemplated his hatred for the man. Never in his life had he met anyone who inspired so much rage inside him, a resentment that ran so deep he'd begun to fantasize about allowing his opponents to finish him off, simply to deprive the bastard of the satisfaction of another victory.

It was a fantasy he could never bring himself to act upon, however. Somewhere beneath all his anger and hopelessness, there still lay a desperate need to survive.

As weeks had turned into months, his body had grown stronger, harder, and more powerful. The days where he wasn't required to face an opponent in the cage were spent down in the training yard, tirelessly honing his skills for the next fight.

It was degrading to fight for profit, as small as that profit might be. And yes, it was infuriating to know he didn't have a choice in the matter. But his deepest shame had come when he'd realized he was beginning to  _enjoy_ the fights. The killing was always unpleasant, of course, but proving his skill up until that point brought a deep feeling of satisfaction.

In the end, the cage was the only place where he didn't feel completely powerless these days.

"Take off your shirt."

Shaken from his reverie, Lancelot glanced up and saw Millie staring back at him with a determined expression on her face. In her hands was a small tray containing a roll of bandages and a vial of ointment.

"Thank you, but I don't need it. Just a couple of scratches. I'll be fine."

"Take off your shirt," she repeated impatiently.

He looked at her for a moment, then sighed in resignation and did as she commanded. She nodded in satisfaction and moved closer, causing him to wince and bite his lip as she began to gently clean a cut on his upper chest and another on his forearm.

"Just scratches?" she scolded him as she worked. "Injuries like this will fester if they're not treated. You know that as well as I do, even if you act like a bloody fool every time it happens."

Millie had often taken Lancelot by surprise as she'd gotten over her timidity and become more comfortable in his presence. Beneath the fear and uncertainty that had made her seem so shy and submissive, he was beginning to learn that her real personality was something else entirely.

The  _real_ Millie had a sharp tongue and wasn't afraid to use it. She was straightforward in everything she said and did, sometimes shocking him with her blunt honesty. He'd learned that quite unexpectedly on the day she'd cheerily informed him they were both cheap whores and might as well get used to that fact.

"Face it, Lancelot – you're paid to fuck men with your sword and I'm paid to do it with my twat. Someone always gets a good sticking when we come around, eh?"

 _"Whores?"_ He'd been horribly offended for both their sakes. "You didn't choose this life any more than I did. We've both been forced to..."

She'd cut him off with an impatient wave of her hand. "Yes, yes, I know. We had no other choice. Do you think it matters, that anyone else stops to consider our reasons? No, Lancelot. You're just a heartless mercenary fighter who kills for profit and I'm nothing but a dirty slut."

"You don't really believe that, do you?"

She'd smiled a little sadly. "No. But people are going to treat us that way no matter how we feel, so might as well make the best of it."

"How?" he'd asked her curiously.

"I'll let you know as soon as I figure that out for myself."

* * *

Lancelot stared blankly up at the ceiling, hoping that sleep would claim him. Restlessness and an overactive mind troubled him almost constantly these days, as he brooded over his current situation and struggled in vain to come up with an idea as to how he might escape it.

Millie slept quietly on the other side of the bed, just as she had every night for the past two months. Two? Or had it been more than that? It was impossible to remember anymore.

He was thankful she'd stopped offering herself to him after the first few nights. It would've been more and more difficult to deny her as the weeks had passed, especially since her constant presence in his chambers left him with limited opportunities to pleasure himself and relieve his tension.

One morning, he'd awoken to find himself pressed against her backside, growing painfully hard as she'd shifted her hips and moaned a little in her sleep. He'd very nearly lost his resolve in that moment, imagining how easy it would be to push up her nightgown and slip inside her.

 _She wouldn't refuse you,_ a voice inside him had whispered as he'd rubbed against her soft warmth, unable to stop himself. _And maybe it wouldn't even be about feeling under obligation anymore. She seems to like you. Maybe she'd_ _**want**_ _to do it if you asked her. Would that be so wrong?_

He'd groaned low in his throat as he'd moved, his hands shaking as he'd fought to resist the overwhelming urge to slide a hand up to touch her breasts.

 _ **Stop.**_ _You have to stop,_ he'd told himself desperately.  _Good lord,_ _**stop it**!_ _You can't do this. You know you can't. Not when you can't be sure she wouldn't be giving in only because she felt like she had no other choice. You're not so dishonorable as that._

Somehow, he'd forced himself from the bed and fled the chamber, choosing to spend the rest of the day dealing with his frustration by beating the hell out of any opponent who'd been foolish enough to face him in the training yard.

That evening and all the nights thereafter, he'd taken to spending extra time in the privy before bed and arranging a pile of pillows between them whenever they slept. She'd raised an eyebrow at him the first time he'd done it, but had made no comment otherwise.

With a heavy sigh, Lancelot brought himself back to the present, struggling to control the direction of his thoughts. No matter what he tried to do to prevent it, the events of that morning had changed everything. He could hardly be in the same room with her anymore without becoming painfully aroused.

Of course, his cravings had nothing to do with Millie herself. He didn't dream of how her lips would feel on his skin because they belonged to  _her_. No, was only because they were pink and soft. And it was nothing more than the sensation he wanted to experience when he fantasized about being inside her.

His lust made him feel guilty for this reason more than any other. While it was true that he cared for Millie, that was only as a protector and possibly a friend. He might crave her body, but it was impossible to think he could bring himself to love her. Only one person would ever hold his heart, and that would never change.

Thinking about Gwen always made Lancelot feel even more conflicted. Now that he knew she'd never received his letter, he was sure she must've given up on him long before now. How would  _any_ woman feel in her position? He'd left her with no promises and no reassurance, followed by well over a year of silence.

 _She must hate me... if I even cross her mind anymore,_  he thought dismally. Was he ever such a fool to imagine he could just leave her behind, then return one day as if nothing had changed? Had he expected that she'd just be sitting there waiting for him?

He slid into some dark, hopeless place as he forced himself to accept that any future with her would be impossible now. Even if by some miracle, she  _didn't_ hate him or hadn't fallen in love with someone else, how would she feel when she saw what he'd become? Disgusted? Sad?

Suddenly, a pitiful sniffle came to his ears, as if echoing the direction of his thoughts. He rose up on one elbow, frowning in concern as he noticed the silvery tears that were trailing down Millie's pale cheeks.

"What is it?" he whispered anxiously. "What's wrong?"

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't know you were awake. Just a bad dream, that's all. Go back to sleep, Lancelot."

He shook his head as he sat up to light a candle on the bedside table. When he turned back to her, examining her face more closely in the light, her eyes were red rimmed and puffy. More than that, she was visibly trembling.

"It must have been a terrible dream. Do you want to tell me about it? It might put your mind at ease to..."

He watched in bewilderment as she began to cry again, searching his mind for other words of comfort he might offer. A much stronger instinct came upon him then; he shoved the barrier of pillows away, reaching out to pull her into his arms. He shifted to his side, stroking her hair as she wept against his chest.

"You were dead. I-I dreamed you went down to the cage to fight and all they brought back w-was your lifeless body, and… I'm sorry, I shouldn't be telling you this..."

"Shhh," he murmured soothingly. "It's all right."

"No, it's not! It's  _not_ all right, because it isn't just a dream! The cage kills every fighter who passes through here, and sooner or later, it's going to kill you, too!"

Suddenly, he began to understand. "You're upset because you don't want me to die? Try not to worry about that – no one is going to kill me that easily."

"I-I can't go back to how it was before. I can't! Maybe it's selfish to think like that, but..."

He didn't want to tell her that any safety he offered was nothing more than an illusion as long as they were at the mercy of Lord Elbert and his whims. "It's not selfish," he said instead, trying to sound as comforting as possible. "I'll do everything in my power to make sure that doesn't happen. I swear it."

Sighing in resignation, she rested her head against his chest. "C-can I just stay like this for a while? I feel safer this way."

"Of course you can," he whispered gently. "Now go back to sleep. Everything will be all right."

It was a lie and they both knew it, but it was enough for the time being. She let out a shuddering sigh and snuggled closer, her fingers absently trailing up and down his back at first, then growing still as her breathing became deep and even.

A sleepy moan and the slightest shift was all it took; he cursed inwardly as he felt himself grow hard. He made to pull away, only to be held fast as she whimpered in protest, throwing a leg over his and preventing his escape.

 _This is torture,_  he thought to himself as his hips began to move against her in a desperate rhythm he fought valiantly to control.  _I can't... I have to stop._

She came awake with a gasp of surprise, but before he could manage to stammer out an apology, she was kissing him. And any further protest his mind might have offered was silenced as she began to mimic his movements, moaning low in her throat as she increased the friction between them.

The next thing he knew, her clothing had been discarded and she was beneath him, her hand reaching down to unlace his trousers. He let out a ragged groan as she wrapped her fingers firmly around his length and guided him to her entrance.

Instinct took over as he pushed his hips forward, nearly climaxing before he was even all the way inside her as he felt the sweet, delicious heat pressing all around him. It was maddening – infinitely more blissful than he'd ever imagined it must be.

Several quick, jerky thrusts were all he could manage before he lost control, his body spasming with wave after wave of intense pleasure. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that it had been a shameful performance, but it was hard to care as he collapsed on top of her, utterly spent.

When he finally recovered enough to raise his head, he looked down to see her staring back at him, appearing almost bored as she raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"I'm guessing that was your first time," she said, unable to suppress her giggles as he turned red and sputtered out an embarrassed apology.


	35. The Escape

#  **Chapter 35: The Escape**

* * *

When Lancelot awoke the following morning, he was overwhelmed by a deep sense of shame.  _What have I done?_  he asked himself as he lay staring at the wall, unable to bring himself to look at the woman sleeping quietly beside him. She'd trusted him and he'd used her, proving himself to be no different than the men he was supposed to be protecting her from.

Unfortunately, what he'd done the previous night had only given him temporary relief. He groaned in frustration as he realized he was hard all over again, then groaned for another reason entirely as soft fingers trailed over his bare hip beneath the blanket.

_This isn't right. Tell her she has to stop. Tell her..._

But then rational thought fled his mind as she took his erection in her hand and began to stroke him in a slow, almost maddening rhythm. She bit his neck and he gasped, responding by flipping over and pinning her beneath him in one swift motion.

The second time he took her was even more mindless than the first. With his eyes squeezed tightly shut, he pounded into her furiously in a futile attempt to satisfy his cravings once and for all. Nothing registered in his mind beyond the intoxicating warmth that was wrapped around him and the increasingly desperate need to...

He let out a hoarse shout as the sweetness of release flooded through his body.  _Good lord, this is worth it,_  he thought vaguely as he collapsed and lay panting in the aftermath. 

But the sound of a softly cleared throat was all it took for reality to come rushing back. He opened his eyes to find Millie staring back at him with a look of sheer frustration on her face. 

He opened and closed his mouth several times before he finally managed to speak. "I'm sorry. That was..."

"Awful?" she helpfully supplied.

"I'm sorry, did I hurt you?" he asked in sudden concern.

"No. Shook me up a bit, but at least I'm wide awake now."

He struggled for the right thing to say, even as he sat up and clumsily fumbled for his trousers. "Last night... this morning. That was wrong. I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me. I shouldn't have..."

Millie raised an eyebrow as she watched him dress. "Shouldn't have what, exactly?"

"I took advantage of you when I swore I'd never do such a thing. I wanted to protect you, so you wouldn't be forced to..." he trailed off and gestured helplessly at the rumpled sheets.

He stared at her in surprise as she burst out laughing.

" _That's_ what you're worried about? You thought I let you fuck me because you're paying for it? Because I felt obligated? Relax, Lancelot. My reasons were much more selfish than that."

He winced at her choice of words. "Then why did you?"

"I might not be rubbing myself up against anyone while they're sleeping or spending all my time in the privy, but I have needs too." She had to pause for a minute to control her laughter before she continued. "I just wanted to feel a man inside me. Plain and simple."

"I don't understand," Lancelot said, giving her a skeptical look. "I thought you hated it. You certainly didn't seem to enjoy yourself when I… did what I did. Not that anyone could blame you considering what you've been through, of course. But..."

Millie looked him directly in the eyes as she spoke. "I  _do_ hate it when it's not my own choice. But when it is, I have the same needs as any other woman. What I've been forced to do hasn't changed that."

"This was  _truly_ what you wanted?"

"Well, I wouldn't go  _that_ far..."

"I'm sorry," he told her quietly, as guilt washed over him all over again. "Whatever I can do to make amends…"

"No, I didn't mean..." She sighed in exasperation as she tried to hide a smile. "Really, Lancelot, do you always take yourself so seriously? Yes, it was my choice. No obligation, I swear it. I only meant that the experience wasn't exactly…"

He flushed in embarrassment. "Yes, I'm sorry about that. It's just that I've never... been with a woman before. Well,  _now_ I have, of course. But I really don't know how…"

"I figured that much," she interrupted with a sly grin. "Well, if you meant what you said about making amends, I have a good idea as to where you might start."

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Lancelot gradually learned to put immediate gratification aside as he was taught numerous ways of giving and receiving satisfaction. His uncertainty faded as he began to approach pleasure from a place that felt much more natural to him... focusing on what he might give to another, not what he could take for himself.

He soon came to the realization that bedding a woman wasn't so different from combat. In both cases, a man couldn't just go charging in and unload everything he had without any forethought. Both required that he take his time and closely observe the vulnerabilities of his partner before settling on the most effective strategy.

The first night he reached this conclusion was the same night Jack appeared at his chamber door, anxiously informing them both that Millie's howls of pleasure could be heard all the way at the other end of the corridor.

Following that, his life began to revolve around two things – fighting by day and fucking by night. Both were acts that satisfied a physical need and exhausted him to the point where he had little room to think or feel beyond what was absolutely necessary. He clung to them both, desperate for the escape they offered.

Deep down, he knew it was the sheer hopelessness of his situation that drove his actions. He struggled to ignore the tiny voices inside him that spoke of honor, struggling to remind him of the man he'd once been.  _You're better than this. Somewhere inside, you're still better than this._

But he couldn't believe it. Not anymore.

 _What does it matter?_  he protested bitterly whenever they rose to haunt him.  _This is my life now. All the things I used to dream of are beyond my reach forever. I'll probably die here in this godforsaken place, and even if by some miracle I_ _**do**_ _escape, I can never return to who I was. Is it so wrong that I take what little comfort I still have left to me?_

A shadow of his former self would appear in his mind, gazing back at him with eyes that were soft and hopeful, not hard and filled with despair.

_You know it is. What happened to the Lancelot who believed in doing what was right, no matter the cost to himself? What would he think of what you're doing, killing men for profit and using a woman you don't love for your own pleasure?_

Why should he be forced to answer to the hazy visage of a half-grown boy who didn't know the first thing about cruelty or starvation, desperation or fear?

_That Lancelot was a naive fool who didn't understand the first thing about how the world works. I'm only doing what I have to in order to survive._

The spectre would just shake his head, giving him a sad smile.

_Are you so sure of that? Is it the world that's to blame... or is it only yourself?_

Again and again, Lancelot would push the thoughts away, temporarily driving them back with a brutal sparring match in the training yard or an impromptu tumble between the sheets with Millie. They grew quieter each time until finally, they haunted him no more.

* * *

"Lancelot?" Millie whispered in the darkness as they were lying in bed a few weeks later.

"Hmmm?" he said sleepily, hoping she wasn't about to tell him she wanted him to pleasure her again that night. He was exhausted.

"Who's Gwen?"

Suddenly, he was wide awake. He'd fought so hard to keep her from his mind throughout the recent months, unable to face the reality that she was lost him forever. Everything else he'd learned to bear, but not that. Never that.

And now, that name spoken aloud... it was like a sharp dagger through a heart he'd begun to believe had become hardened to any real emotion. He swallowed hard, struggling for composure before he could bring himself to reply.

"Where did you hear…?"

"You've said it quite a few times," she said nonchalantly as she reached out to trail a finger down his bare chest. "When you shoot your load…"

"Do you have to refer to it that way?"

She rolled her eyes. "When you finish, you often call for Gwen. I figured you knew."

"No, I didn't."

"Who is she? Not that I mind, of course. After all, I'm the one who gets to fuck you every night. Even if you're thinking about her while we're doing it, I still think I'm getting the better end of the deal."

Every word drove into Lancelot like a dagger, seeming to rip him out of the fog that had allowed him... to  _what?_  He shook his head in confusion, trying to understand how he'd managed to convince himself that what he'd been doing with Millie was somehow all right. What had led him to believe he was so far beyond himself that his feelings didn't matter anymore?

_What have I been thinking? This isn't who I am. Everything else, yes, I can accept that I've failed... but not when it comes to my love for Gwen. I may not be betraying her, but I've been betraying myself. I've been betraying my heart._

"Lancelot?"

"This has to stop," he said with more certainty than he'd felt about anything in months. "I'm sorry, I can't do this anymore. It shouldn't have happened in the first place."

Millie stared at him in consternation. "If you don't want me to bring it up again, just say so. It doesn't mean we can't..."

"Yes it does," he said firmly, then tried to make his voice more gentle. "It's nothing you've done. I just... I can't continue to dishonor myself this way."

"Because I'm a whore?" Millie said quietly.

" _No!_  It's not you at all. The woman you spoke of... I love her. Even though she may be beyond my reach now, I always will. I thought I could put that from my mind and find comfort elsewhere, but I can't do it anymore. I'm sorry..."

She held up a hand to interrupt him. "I understand. Well no, actually, I  _don't_. I don't pretend to know the first thing about love. But if this is making you unhappy, then I don't want it to continue either. It's as simple as that."

"You haven't made me unhappy. I've enjoyed..."

"But it's not what you want," she said bluntly.

He sighed heavily. "No, it isn't."

Millie opened her mouth to speak again, but the words never came. The chamber door burst open; they both scrambled to cover themselves as a frantic looking Jack ran into the room, gesturing wildly as he fought to control his ragged panting.

"T-the master! He-he's... get dressed! Quickly!"

Jack fidgeted as they pulled on their clothes, muttering to himself in a low voice while he waited.

"Ready? Good! Now come on, we have to hurry! Lancelot, bring your sword."

Lancelot frowned in confusion, but offered no protest as Jack handed him the weapon. He slid it into the scabbard at his waist and then they were off, following close behind as the boy ran headlong through the strangely empty corridors of the fortress.

"Jack, what...?" Millie started, sounding as anxious as Lancelot felt.

"Hush!" he hissed frantically.

"W-we can't go in there!" she protested as they reached Lord Elbert's chamber door. "What are you doing? Are you mad?"

Jack threw the door open and rushed inside. "Come on!" he cried urgently as they hesitated in the doorway. "There isn't much time!"

"No," Millie insisted in a frightened whisper. "He could wake up! What...?"

"He won't," Jack said with a confident smile, pulling a small vial from his trouser pocket and shaking it meaningfully. "I slipped plenty of this into his ale earlier tonight. Trust me, the walls could come down around him and he'd sleep right through it."

"But the guards..."

"The guards are busy trying to put out a fire down in the storage rooms. Nasty blaze, but that's what happens when you spill a cask of strong ale and set it alight. I imagine they'll have it out soon though, so let's hurry!"

"You set a  _fire?_ " she gasped. "You've been planning for this!"

"Of course I have," he said with an impatient snort. "I've just been biding my time until the right opportunity came along. The fire and the potion were easy enough, but we needed a fighter on our side. Now come on, Lancelot! Pull out your sword and kill him! Do it quickly!"

Lancelot turned pale. "You want me to run a sleeping man through? He's defenseless!"

 _"Defenseless?"_  Jack stared at him in shock. "How defenseless was he when he had you shackled? When he...  _bloody hell!_  You kill men in the cage all the time! What's the difference?"

"That's combat," Lancelot said quietly. "This is murder."

"It's not! Don't be a fool! You  _have_ to kill him and you have to do it  _now!_  This is the only chance we have, can't you see that? He's left us no other choice!"

Lancelot stared at him silently, struggling with himself as he realized just how desperately he  _wanted_ to see the man dead. He imagined the sweet satisfaction that would come from driving his sword through the sleeping body, even as he fought to reconcile that desire with a lifetime of belief that there was  _no_ justifiable reason for killing a defenseless man.

"But you said the potion would ensure he sleeps through anything," he tried one last time. "Can't we just go? We'd be well away from here before..."

It was Millie who suddenly grabbed his arm and gave him a violent shake. "Then what?" she said in a trembling voice. "He'll hunt us down! He won't give up until... Jack's right! This is the only way.  _Now do it!_  You  _have_ to, for all our sakes!"

And then Lancelot put all further thought from his mind as he drew his sword, lifting it above his head with both hands. With a grunt of both surrender and triumph, he drove the blade through Lord Elbert's thick chest with all the strength he had.

The man's eyes flew open in his last moments, staring up at the three faces above him in anguished bewilderment. He was beyond the ability to voice the question, but it came to them loud and clear nonetheless.

_Why...?_

Millie stepped forward and spat on his dying face.

"Justice," she snarled with a coldness that chilled Lancelot right down to his bones.

No one stopped them as they rushed headlong through the back corridors and out into the chilly night air. They never heard so much as a single shout of alarm as Jack led them to the stables to find three saddled horses, ready and waiting for their escape.

Lancelot threw himself on the back of a chestnut gelding and took off after the others at a furious gallop, none of them slowing their frantic pace until the fortress was a tiny speck of grey in the distance.

And just like that, they were free.


	36. A Taste of Humility

#  **Chapter 36: A Taste of Humility**

* * *

"You're asking me to let  _Arthur_ stay here?" Gwen sputtered as she stared at Merlin in shock.

He sat at the kitchen table, munching enthusiastically on the soft bread and hard cheese she'd served him a few minutes before.

"Yes," he mumbled around a mouthful of food. "Just for a few days. It's no big deal. He won't be any trouble, I promise."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "He'll be plenty of trouble and you know it. But what I don't understand is...  _why?_  What reason could he possibly have for wanting to impersonate a  _commoner?_  Something about proving his worth, you said? But how...?"

"He believes the other knights give him special treatment because of who he is."

"Well, he's right," she said with a tiny smirk.

"I know that, Gwen," Merlin agreed, trying without any success to hide a grin. "You know that.  _Everybody_ knows that. The problem is that he's realized it now as well, and it's been a bit of a blow to his pride. But if he competes in the tournament while disguised as a commoner and he _wins_..."

"Then his arrogance will be justified," she finished for him with a shake of her head. "Merlin, this is ridiculous."

"Yes, it is," he said, giving her a mischievous smile. "So... will you do it?"

* * *

 _Of all the arrogant, pigheaded..._ Gwen fumed silently to herself later that night, as she struggled in vain to find a comfortable position on the lumpy sacks she'd been forced to use as a bed.  _Does he think of no one but himself?_

It had started from the moment Arthur had walked in her door. He'd greeted her politely, but when she'd walked away to prepare some food, she'd glanced back over her shoulder to find him looking around her home with open distaste. Even worse had been when she'd heard him comment under his breath to Merlin that he couldn't possibly be expected to stay there.

 _Doesn't he realize that I can hear him?_  she'd wondered with a great deal of resentment. 

Throughout the evening, it had been one thing after another. She hadn't minded cooking him supper, but it might have been nice to hear something a little more courteous than a mindless grunt when she'd set the plate in front of him. He could have at least picked up the pitcher and filled his  _own_ cup, rather than giving her an expectant look whenever it had run empty.

All of that was nothing, however, compared with their sleeping arrangements.

"Is this my bed?" he'd asked nonchalantly.

 _No,_  she corrected herself with a scowl of irritation.  _He didn't ask._ If he'd _asked_ , he would've waited for a response before taking over her bed like he owned it. How could a man with such a good heart be so oblivious to the feelings of others?

That was what baffled Gwen. Ever since the day she'd decided to try and see him in a better light, there'd been ample proof of his kindness, his honor, his willingness to put his own needs aside for the sake of his people.

He'd faced the Questing Beast without a trace of fear, nearly losing his life in his attempt to protect the kingdom. Since then, accompanied by his knights, he'd ventured out on many occasions to put down minor skirmishes or to intervene on behalf of even the poorest villagers who needed help.

From afar, Arthur was the perfect picture of a noble hero – unselfish, loyal, and honorable. He inspired a great deal of hope in Gwen as she dreamed of the day he'd come into power... a king worthy of the title, who'd transform Camelot into a kingdom where even the most humble citizen would never have to be afraid of the threat of tyranny or injustice.

Up close? All she wanted to do was smack him.

* * *

The following day did nothing to help Gwen's increasingly conflicted feelings. She'd been deeply offended at breakfast when he'd stared down at his bowl of porridge like it was something repulsive.

"Where's the rest?" he'd said in a tone that was almost demanding. "The meat and the cheese?"

 _He's your guest,_  she'd had to remind herself as she'd glared at him in stony silence from across the table.  _It would be rude to call him out on his behavior. Remember your manners, Gwen._

And yet just a few hours later, she'd found herself cheering enthusiastically for him from the sidelines, her heart surging with excitement as she'd watched him ride forth in heavy armor to face his opponents in the jousting tournament.

 _This_ was the Arthur who inspired all Gwen's hopes and expectations... not the spoiled houseguest who expected to be waited on hand and foot. Here was a man who didn't hesitate in the face of danger, charging forward fiercely and without hesitation to meet any opponent who might stand in his way.

 _Why does he feel such a need to prove himself?_  she'd wondered then.  _Look at him... none can hope to compete against his skill. Surely he must realize how good he is. Why is this so important to him?_

Unable to resist the temptation, she asked the question rather bluntly later that evening.

"Why are you doing this?"

"I fear that people respect me just because of my title," he said, sounding surprisingly vulnerable.

"I don't believe that's true of everyone," Gwen said automatically, then wondered to herself if she really meant the words or if she'd said them merely because they were expected of her. It was a little troubling to realize that she couldn't be sure either way.

"Would you tell me if it were?" Arthur asked her skeptically, as if he could sense the direction of her thoughts.

"No."

"When I'm competing as William, my title doesn't matter," he told her in a quiet, sincere voice. "Nobody gives me any special treatment. So when I win this tournament...  _if_ I win this tournament, it will be because I deserve it and not because I am Prince Arthur."

Suddenly, she felt a great deal of sympathy for him. Did being born to privilege make him different than anyone else? Didn't every person long to be valued for who they really were inside? It had to be difficult never knowing where you stood with others... to realize they were obligated to treat you a certain way no matter what you said or did.

 _Arthur really does mean well,_  she thought herself with a sudden wave of compassion.  _Maybe I've been a little too critical of..._

"I think I'll take a bath," he announced.

"That might be difficult seeing as I don't have a bathtub," she said, trying not to think about the level of ignorance that would lead him to believe that an average citizen of Camelot could afford one.

 _He's never lived in a place where bathtubs weren't readily available,_  she reminded herself.  _Don't judge him too harshly._

"Really?" he said, giving her a baffled look.

 _He could at least be courteous enough to hide his surprise,_ she thought in irritation. And then she caught herself, but before she could replace the thought with something a little more generous, he proceeded to make the situation even worse.

"Perhaps you could prepare me a bowl of hot water," he suggested carelessly. "I take it you have a bowl?"

"I think I can manage a  _bowl_ ," she said, hearing the anger in her voice and no longer caring if he did as well. "Just walk all the way down to the well and fetch some water then, shall I?"

* * *

 _Special treatment indeed!_  Gwen fumed to herself throughout another sleepless night and well into the next day. He wanted to be treated like an ordinary person when he had something to gain from it, but not when it involved being considerate of anyone else!

If she truly believed him to be the type of man who cared nothing for others, she wouldn't be bothered by his selfishness. After all, it had never really affected her in the past... not until she'd begun to look closer and had recognized the goodness that lay beneath his pompous behavior.

 _He's better than this,_  she realized in a flash of clarity. That was why it upset her so much. This wasn't really him, only what he'd been taught throughout his life. And who was there to question his behavior when he was wrong? 

Gwen found herself inadvertently thrust into that very position just a few hours later.

She'd never intended for Arthur to know about her miserable sleeping arrangements... he'd come in quite unexpectedly to find the curtain to the pantry drawn back. No, she hadn't intended to point out that it was his thoughtlessness that had robbed her of her own bed either.

The words that came out of her mouth shocked her even as she spoke them, but she just couldn't stop herself as all of her frustrations came pouring out. She was appalled as she listened to herself scold him for being rude, arrogant, and childish, then cringed inwardly as she went on to chastise him quite bluntly for his poor manners.

Arthur just listened quietly. He didn't flinch at the harsh criticisms, nor did he raise so much as an eyebrow to stop her. He just  _listened_ , which left her a little stunned as she brought her emotions under control and hastily added a respectful "my lord" to the end of her rant.

"Is there anything else you'd like to add?" he asked when she'd finished.

No, I think that's it."

 _Gwen, you're standing here insulting the Crown Prince of Camelot,_ she told herself, though the reminder came too late to make a difference. She suddenly felt uneasy as she imagined what King Uther's reaction would be if he'd heard the way a servant had just dared to speak to his son.

 _Arthur's not his father,_  she reminded herself, even as she realized it was a reassurance she didn't really need anymore.  _You have nothing to fear from him._

"You're right," Arthur said, his voice soft and sincere "You've invited me into your home and I have behaved appallingly."

Any further annoyance she might have felt faded away at his words, then disappeared entirely at his promise to cook her supper that night to make up for his behavior. It was difficult to remain angry with a man who took criticism so well, not to mention one who showed so much eagerness to make amends for his mistakes.

* * *

 _He really is endearing in his own clumsy way,_  she thought to herself with a smile as she wandered aimlessly through the streets of Camelot just a few minutes later. Imagine... Arthur Pendragon cooking supper for simple little Gwen. No one would believe it if she told them.

This suspicion was confirmed as she ran into Merlin, who looked at her as if she'd just sprouted horns when she said the words aloud. He rushed off in the direction of her house and she grinned inwardly, imagining the two men fumbling with the raw chicken and uncooked vegetables she'd left out for that evening's supper.

 _I'm sure it'll be burnt to a crisp, but I'll happily eat it anyway,_  she thought to herself in fond amusement. Arthur deserved a little credit for trying so hard.

To her surprise, however, there was no acrid smell of charred meat in the air when she arrived home an hour later. The mouthwatering aroma of perfectly roasted chicken filled the room instead as Arthur presented her with a beautiful supper, even going so far as to pull out her chair for her.

She began to forget why she'd ever been annoyed with him in the first place as they laughed and joked over the delicious food.  _Merlin must have helped him quite a lot,_  she thought to herself as she smiled at him from across the table.  _Well, I'll never let on that I know._

Feeling completely at ease in his presence for the first time, Gwen found herself enjoying the pleasantness of his smile and the warmth in his blue eyes... little things she'd never quite picked up on before.

 _He really is quite handsome when he makes an effort to put his arrogance aside,_  she thought with a smile as he insisted on clearing their dishes himself.  _I can't believe I've been around him for so many years and never noticed how..._

But just then, she noticed something  _else_. She frowned in confusion, then felt a rush of disappointment as she stared at the royal seal that was stamped on the bottom of the plates

 _He didn't cook me supper at all,_  she fumed to herself as she called him out on his dishonesty.  _No, he just sent a servant off to fetch it from the palace kitchens like usual. Only this is worse, because he lied to me. I can't believe I actually started to think..._

"We had a nice meal together. What does it matter where it came from?"

"Because I thought you'd shown some humility!" she responded, not understanding why she felt like weeping at that moment. "I thought you'd done something kind for me even though I'm just a servant! A good king should respect his people, no matter who they are!"

She was about to walk away, resigned to the belief that he would  _never_ get it, when he caught her arm in a grasp that was surprisingly gentle. Reluctantly, she turned back to face him.

"I know I have much to learn," he said quietly. "I'm terrible at some things... cooking being one of them. But also knowing what to say to someone I care about."

The words hung in the air between them as she stared up at him in disbelief.

_Someone I care about..._

_Arthur has feelings for me,_  she suddenly realized with a great deal of surprise. _I think I might care about him, too. It's not just about the kind of king I hope he'll be or how I'd like him to treat other people. I don't know what it is, but I feel something for him._

With that in mind, it seemed strange that for the first time in months, she found herself thinking of Lancelot as she drifted off to sleep that night.


	37. Sleepless Nights

#  **Chapter 37: Sleepless Nights**

* * *

"This looks like a good place to pass the night," Jack said as they brought their horses to a standstill beside what appeared to be an uninhabited cottage. "Close enough to the river for fresh water and decent grazing for the horses."

Lancelot raised a skeptical eyebrow as he studied the ramshackle building. It was so thickly covered with moss that it was impossible to tell if it even  _had_ a door, though he supposed it didn't matter. There were large gaps all around the dwelling where the walls had collapsed in on themselves long ago.

"We'd probably be better off sleeping outside," he remarked as he dismounted and helped Millie do the same. "There's no telling what might be living in there."

Jack ignored him and ducked inside the cottage, only to emerge a few seconds later with a shout of alarm. Lancelot and Millie grinned at each other as he swatted frantically at the cloud of bats that had come swarming out behind him.

Lancelot entered more cautiously, unsheathing his sword and disposing of several rats before inviting the others to join him. Aside from a thick carpet of decaying leaves on the floor, the cottage was completely bare.

"We'll need a fire," Lancelot said as he glanced at Jack. "Can you gather some wood?"

The boy gave him a sullen look. "I thought the point of escaping was that I wouldn't  _have_ to take orders anymore. Why don't you get it yourself?"

Lancelot let out a heavy sigh. "I'd be glad to do it, but I need to find us some kind of food before it's too dark to see. Or would you rather wait until morning to eat?"

Soon enough, the room was illuminated by a cheerful fire that chased the chill from the cool night air. A fat trout Lancelot had been fortunate enough to spear began to sizzle on its makeshift spit as they all stared at it hungrily. They devoured the food in silence, none caring about burnt fingers or tongues as they rushed to fill their famished bellies.

"So what are we supposed to do now?" Millie asked after they'd finished. "Where are we supposed to go?"

Those were questions that had haunted Lancelot ever since the excitement of escape had worn off. There'd been no time to think about practical matters such as supplies or gold for their journey on their way out of the fortress.

He patted his empty pockets just in case, then wistfully remembered the coins he'd carefully hidden beneath the mattress in the bedchamber he'd so recently left behind. It hadn't been much, but even a handful of gold could have made a world of difference in their current situation.

"We'll have to find the nearest town and sell the horses, I suppose," he mused thoughtfully. "That should bring enough coin to provide food and shelter for a week or two. And after that..."

"After that... what?" Millie prodded impatiently as he trailed off into silence.

"I'll think of something."

"That's hardly reassuring," she said with a derisive snort, though he could see the uncertainty in her eyes.

"Why are you asking  _him_ anyway?" Jack interjected with a scowl. "Why not ask me? Neither of you would even be here without my help. I'm the one who planned the escape and had the guts to carry it out, am I not? If it was up to him, you'd still be..."

Millie glared at him as he spoke, then cut him off before he was finished.

"And you think that makes you so clever? Where are our supplies then? Did you smuggle any food or blankets into the saddlebags? Did you bring any gold that might help us? What exactly did you expect us to do once we were free?"

Jack picked up a stick and poked angrily at the fire. "So much for gratitude."

"All right then," Lancelot said calmly. "Why don't you tell us what you think we should do?"

"Go our separate ways," the boy said after a long silence. "Each of us can find work. Earn gold. Buy ourselves a decent home and live the way we choose. We're free now, aren't we? We can do anything we like."

"And you really believe it's that simple?" Lancelot asked him, attempting to keep the condescending tone out of his voice.  _Was I ever so naive as this boy?_  he wondered to himself.  _Was there ever a time when I believed as he does... that I could just bend the world to my will?_

"I'm not afraid of hard work," Jack informed him confidently. "I have no intention of being anyone's servant again, of course, but I'm willing to do almost anything else. Well, except mucking out stables. I don't think I'd enjoy that very much."

Lancelot struggled to keep his real thoughts to himself. "What did you do before you were brought to Greytower? Did you have a trade?"

"I was seven years old when I was taken. Barely even remember where I came from, let alone what I did while I was there. I'm like this one here," he paused and pointed his stick vaguely at Millie. "Only life we've ever known was in that shithole."

Lancelot released a weary sigh and nodded in resignation. "Well, I suppose we can't figure it all out tonight. Let's get some rest and we'll talk about it more tomorrow."

* * *

Despite his exhaustion, Lancelot found himself unable to sleep as he stared up at the crescent moon through a large gap in the ceiling. How many months had he spent in captivity? It was disconcerting to realize that he couldn't be sure if the cool air around him was due to a chill autumn breeze or the slow thawing of an approaching spring.

Had a year passed since he'd left Camelot? Or was it two?

For a moment, he longed to lose himself in memories that had lain untouched throughout the recent months. He wanted to remember the cheerful smile and kind blue eyes of a dear friend, to dream of the innocence of first love found in a sweetly intoxicating kiss on a warm summer night.

When he  _did_ close his eyes, however, all he could see was the bleak road that lay ahead. It was disheartening to realize he was no better off than he'd been before his capture, especially since this time, it wasn't just himself he had to worry about. What was he supposed to do now?

Jack might be too young and arrogant to understand how difficult it would be to survive on his own, but Millie was a more practical sort. Lancelot had seen the uncertainty in her eyes as she'd looked to him for a solution. She didn't have the first idea how to provide for herself and she knew it.

 _I'm responsible for them both,_  he thought uneasily. He had to do something to keep them safe, to be sure they'd have food and shelter. But how? Nothing had changed – the art of combat was the only skill he had to rely on.

Reaching out to touch the sword that lay on the floor beside him, he mindlessly stroked the hilt as a solution began to form in his mind.

Yes, he did still have this. Would it really be so terrible to continue earning a living by the sword? After all, the fighting itself hadn't been bad, only being forced to do it against his will. But on his own terms, all he'd need to do was win the fight and collect his payment, and then move on to the next opportunity. He wouldn't be obligated to serve under anyone's command, nor surrender his freedom again.

But just as he'd begun to feel satisfied with this solution, Lancelot frowned. That life might work well enough for him, but what about the others? He couldn't just drag them from place to place, constantly exposing them to the hard, dangerous men who sought out that type of entertainment.

No, he would have no choice but to leave them behind... but  _where?_  They didn't have a place in the world to go, and he certainly didn't have one to offer. He needed gold in order to provide shelter... but he'd have to provide shelter in order to go out and earn that gold to begin with. How was he supposed to manage that?

Lancelot wrestled with the dilemma for quite some time, then finally surrendered with a sigh of defeat as exhaustion took over and his eyelids grew heavy.  _I'll figure it out when I wake up. Tomorrow, I'll find the answer._

* * *

Gwen lay curled on her side, restlessly twirling a corner of blanket around her fingers as she struggled to fall asleep. She closed her eyes several times, only to open them again as the empty silence of the room seemed to close in around her.

With a frustrated sigh, she rose and dressed, then threw a light shawl around her shoulders to ward off the chill of the early spring night before she made her way outside.

Wandering the streets of Camelot at such a late hour was probably not the safest idea, but she felt as if she might scream just to fill the silence if she stayed inside for even a moment longer. She needed to walk, to run, to do  _anything_ that might chase away the awful restlessness that plagued her.

It had been this way ever since Arthur had returned to his life at the palace the week before. She'd lain awake each night, missing the rustle of blankets and even the snores that came along with having another person close at hand. Solitude she thought she'd grown used to over the previous year had suddenly become unbearable all over again.

Gwen knew these feelings had nothing to do with Arthur himself. She'd felt much the same in those first terrible weeks after her father had been executed, as if her home was some sort of void she could never quite fill on her own.

 _These feelings eventually went away before,_  she reminded herself as she stopped to gaze up at the moon hanging low in the sky above her. _This time will be no different. I just have to be patient and let them run their course._

What she knew to be loneliness was simple enough to reconcile in her mind. The other feelings Arthur's visit had stirred inside her were not so easily understood.

It was like a dream to her now. By some strange impulse, she'd given him a favor to wear for luck in the jousting tournament. Why? Perhaps she'd been caught up in the excitement of it all? It had been a lovely fantasy, imagining herself as a highborn lady giving her blessing to a handsome knight as he set out to conquer his enemies... like something out of the legends she'd grown up with as a child.

It had seemed silly right after she'd made the gesture... until Arthur had stared deeply into her eyes, then brought his lips down to meet her own in a lingering kiss.

 _The Prince of Camelot just kissed me,_  was all she'd been able to think of at the time.  _Arthur Pendragon just kissed me. The future king, who could easily choose from all of the most beautiful women in five kingdoms…_.

It was only after the tournament had ended and Arthur had returned the palace that she'd been able to think about it on a more practical level.

Dwelling on the kiss itself had inevitably brought Lancelot to mind, as she couldn't help but compare the only two men she'd ever experienced in such a way. Lancelot's kisses had been hungry, passionate, causing an intense longing that had made her feel as if she was on the brink of losing control.

Arthur's kiss had been sweet and tender, even surprisingly comfortable for something so unexpected. A relaxing summer day that soothed the senses, rather than a violent thunderstorm that stirred them to a fever pitch.

Gwen would be lying to herself to say that she hadn't enjoyed the experience... but it was nothing like her memory of kissing Lancelot. It had been a pleasant feeling that was enough just as it was, not an overwhelming rush of sensation that had left her desperately craving more.

As she thought about it further, she suddenly realized that the same comparison extended to  _all_ her feelings concerning Arthur. There was no point in denying that she felt some affection for him, but it was based on a feeling of safety and comfort, not driving passion and deep emotion.

 _That's what I felt when he said he cared about me_ , she realized as she slowly made her way home and undressed for bed.  _I do care about him in return... but only as a friend. If I felt some small attraction while I was caught up in the moment, well, he's a handsome man. But whatever I may have felt wasn't strong enough to mean anything. I know that now._

The realization brought her a great deal of relief. Even if it were possible she might develop real feelings for Arthur, why even leave herself open to that possibility? What use would there be in falling in love with a man she could never have?

No... she'd had enough of uncertainty and broken hearts caused by men who were forever beyond her reach. Better to keep it limited to friendship on both sides, avoiding any hurt or confusion that would be inevitable if it ever truly crossed those lines.

Satisfied with this conclusion, she tried not to think about the lingering gazes that had begun to follow her around the room whenever Arthur was near. She refused to admit to herself that the look in those blue eyes was swiftly becoming something that went far beyond friendly affection.

Instead, she closed her own eyes and drifted off into a peaceful sleep.


	38. What Goes Unseen

#  **Chapter 38: What Goes Unseen**

* * *

The ramshackle cottage was empty when Lancelot awoke the following morning. He forced his weary eyelids open with a reluctant groan, then blinked in confusion as he struggled to remember where he was and exactly how he'd gotten there.

_This isn't my chamber. What...?_

Suddenly, his mind conjured up a vivid image of a sword being driven through Lord Elbert's chest, a swift and unanticipated act that had bought him and his companions their freedom. He was somewhat surprised as he examined his conscience, realizing the shame he'd expected to feel over such a dishonorable act had never come.

No, the aftermath had only given him a deep feeling of satisfaction, which he couldn't quite bring himself to feel guilty about. Perhaps it was a poor reflection upon his own character, but he found it difficult to see any lack of honor in killing such a despicable man. How many victims, innocent people like Millie and Jack, had been saved from a miserable fate through his actions?

 _Maybe the ends really do justify the means sometimes,_ he mused to himself as he rose and pulled on his boots. It was an idea that made perfect sense in reality, far more than those old codes of honor he was starting to believe had been imagined for a world that didn't exist.

"Hello?" he called, stepping through one of the gaps in the crumbling walls and raising a hand to shield his eyes from the bright morning sunlight. "Jack? Millie?"

"Over here!"

Lancelot turned his head in the direction of the call, then stopped short as his eyes fell upon Millie standing on the bank of the river. She was naked from head to toe, making no move to cover herself as she raised a quizzical eyebrow at him.

He quickly averted his gaze, but not before the appealing sight of milk white skin dusted with a smattering of light freckles burned itself into his mind. Try as he might, it was impossible to push away the vision of small, rose tipped breasts and the little thatch of bright red hair that promised pleasures he knew all too well. He cursed under his breath as he felt himself grow hard.

"Really, Lancelot," he heard her say as he gritted his teeth and stared at a pine cone on the ground at his feet. "I'd wager you've been inside me nearly half a hundred times by now. Under the circumstances, it's a little absurd to play the honorable gentleman, don't you think?"

The tone in her voice was playfully mocking, but there was an edge to it that indicated she was hurt by his rejection. He sighed heavily as a wave of guilt washed over him, suddenly realizing that what had happened between them had gone too far... and not only for the reasons which had already caused him to put an end to it.

His own reasons, which were the only factor that had driven him all along. The need to satisfy his cravings, the constant desire for physical release, the temptation of a pleasurable escape from the bleak hopelessness he'd struggled so hard to push away. Even when he'd chosen to stop, he'd been entirely focused on his own feelings in doing so. He'd given little thought to how she might be affected by his decision.

He raised his head again, taking a deep breath as he forced his eyes to meet hers. What he found looking back at him was a vulnerability he'd never noticed before, as a flurry of sadness, uncertainty, desire, and perhaps even a little fear played across her features. He wasn't sure if it was love he saw in her eyes, but it couldn't be very far from it.

 _How long has she felt this way?_  he asked himself angrily.  _How long has this been going on, while I was too selfish to even notice?_

"Lancelot," she said softly, moving closer and reaching out to trail her fingers down his chest as she peeked up at him through lowered lashes. "No matter what you said the other night, we both know what you want. Why do you deny us both?"

 _Why indeed?_  His thoughts became scattered and vague as his body instinctively responded to her nearness. She chuckled low in her throat, giving him a knowing look as her fingers drifted lower to brush against his hardness through the fabric of his trousers. Despite his earlier resolve, he let out a shuddering sigh, pressing himself more firmly into the touch.

It would be so easy to give in. She had a point – why _should_ he deny himself, when she was obviously willing, even eager for him? Just one more time, one more chance to feel that sweet release, and… no, this wasn't right. He'd only be using her, and he was finished with that.

"Stop," he said hoarsely, reaching down to push her hands away from the laces of his trousers. She didn't seem to hear him at first; he groaned in both desire and frustration as her fingers reached inside and wrapped around his erection, pulling it free. "We have to stop. I... damn it, Millie.  _Enough!"_

He immediately regretted the harshness in his tone as she took a clumsy step backward, staring at him as if he'd struck her as her eyes filled with tears. Guilt overwhelmed him; he held out his hands in a helpless gesture as she bent down to retrieve her clothing.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"To what?" she said in a muffled voice as she jerked the worn gray dress over her head. "To turn me down? On the contrary, that's exactly what you intended to do. You wanted me to stop and so you stopped me."

"Perhaps, but I didn't mean to be so harsh about it."

Millie snorted contemptuously, though her voice was shaky when she spoke. "Do you think it matters? I've dealt with far worse. Besides, I didn't leave you much of a choice. I just assumed you didn't really mean what you said the other night. Men rarely do, after all."

"But I did mean it," he said quietly. "What we were doing wasn't right. Not for either of us, but especially not for you."

She turned and glared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He hesitated before he spoke. "I... it was only about pleasure for me. I knew all along that I'd never have anything else to offer. I convinced myself it was all right in the beginning, but now... to continue when it's clear that it means something more for you..."

"You're wrong, Lancelot. But even if you weren't, how is it any business of yours what I might feel or not feel? What gives you the right to decide what's best for me?"

"Because I don't want to be responsible for hurting you," he responded quietly.

"Have you ever considered that this might be enough for me, just as it is?" she said more quietly, her anger suddenly melting into a stark vulnerability that wrenched at his heart. "No man has ever treated me half as well as you do, whether you feel anything for me or not. I'd be a fool to wish for anything more than that."

Pained by her words, he cursed under his breath. "This is the price of the life you've lived, isn't it? You can't see what you truly deserve and even if you can, you're afraid to hope it could be yours."

"And what is it you think I deserve?" Millie said softly as she seated herself on an overgrown log, staring up at him with wide eyes full of curiosity.

He knelt beside her, taking her hand as he spoke. "You deserve someone who will love you with his whole heart and soul. Someone who'll live for your happiness, and would gladly die for you should the need arise. You deserve to be someone's first choice... his only choice."

"Is that the way you love... Gwen?" she asked him quietly.

"Yes," he whispered. "In all those ways and more."

She paused for a moment, clearly understanding it was a delicate subject. "Then why aren't you with her?" she finally said, her blunt nature overcoming her hesitancy. "You said she was beyond your reach. Is she... is she dead?"

 _"No!"_ he exclaimed, horrified by the suggestion. "Good lord, no."

"Married to someone else?" she prodded, raising a quizzical eyebrow at him. "Repulsed by the sight of you?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Then how she beyond your reach?"

He sighed, wishing she'd drop the subject. "Because I'm not worthy of her, and I see no way to better myself or my circumstances."

Millie looked at him skeptically. "Did she decide you weren't good enough? Ask you to change to meet her standards?"

"No, of course not! Gwen isn't like that. She'd never..."

"Oh, I see," she said with a smirk. "The price of the life you've lived? You might want to take that statement and apply it to yourself, Lancelot."

"What?" He blinked in confusion, then realized she'd been referring to his earlier comment. "No, this is a completely different situation. Gwen deserves a better life than I could possibly hope to give her. I have little to offer, and she deserves..."

"Would you tell me I was unworthy of someone I loved because of who I am? That I didn't deserve them because of the things I've had to do in order to survive? Or would you tell me that..."

"It's not the same thing," he interrupted as he rose to his feet. "You don't understand."

"But how is it...?"

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," he said dismissively, turning his mind to more practical matters so he wouldn't have to think about it either. "Where's Jack? I haven't even seen him this morning."

"Gone," she said matter-of-factly as she headed back to the cottage, leaving him no choice but to follow. "Rode out of here early this morning, going on and on about how he was off to seek his fortune. Bloody fool."

He stared at her in disbelief. "Gone? Why didn't you stop him?"

"Why would I? He's a free man now, isn't he? If he wants to leave, I say good riddance!"

"He isn't a man, only a half grown boy who doesn't have the faintest idea how to survive out in the world. I can't imagine he'll get very far without our help."

"Without  _your_ help, you mean," she said bluntly, staring at him in a way that almost made him squirm. "Lancelot, for someone with such a low opinion of himself, you seem to know an awful lot about what's best for everyone else."

"I don't..."

She silenced him with a raised eyebrow.

* * *

Despite her criticisms, Millie seemed all too willing to leave the solution to their current predicament in Lancelot's hands, questioning him again later that night as they sat beside the fire and consumed yet another meal of cooked trout. Unfortunately, it was the only meat he'd been able to provide.

"I'm so tired of fish. I swear, if I eat any more trout, I'm going to start growing scales. What are we supposed to do? We can't stay here forever."

"I know we can't," he said with a heavy sigh. "We'll leave in the morning and... well, I suppose I'll go back to fighting wherever I can find the opportunity. But I'm afraid that only solves part of our problem."

"What? No! Isn't there something else you could do?"

He shook his head, having already resigned himself to his fate. "I have no other choice. The art of combat is the only skill I know, and I have no intention of allowing either of us to starve."

"But where does that leave me? Am I to come with you, or will you just leave me to my own devices?"

"Neither. I'll find a safe place for you and provide for your care. You won't be alone, I promise you that."

She looked equal parts offended and relieved. "Where is it you're planning to stash me? And what if I don't want to stay there?"

"I don't know yet. I'll have to give the matter more thought."

"But why can't I come with you? I won't be any trouble, I promise."

"Millie, I'm not worried about you causing trouble," he said, hardly able to stand the pleading in her eyes. "It just wouldn't be safe for you. Do you want to be around the kind of men you were forced to deal with before? You know what they're like, perhaps even better than I do. I refuse to expose you to that again."

"Then where will I go? Wherever it is that you came from before you were brought to Greytower?"

 _Where I came from..._ Lancelot mused thoughtfully. There was the distant village he hardly remembered anymore. And then there was Camelot, where he had no right to ask favors of anyone. Other than that, there'd only been inns and taverns where he hadn't a soul, along with lonely forests filled with cold and starvation. But there'd also been a place called Oakview, where he'd been lucky enough to find solace in an unexpected friend.

When the solution came to him, it was so obvious that he couldn't imagine why he hadn't thought of it in the first place.

"Nessie," he said as his face broke into a huge grin. "I'll take you to Nessie."


	39. A Faithful Ally

#  **Chapter 39: A Faithful Ally**

* * *

"The Sleeping  _Goat?_ " Millie said as she stared up the battered sign with a frown of consternation. "Fitting name, I suppose. Only an animal would want to spend the night in such a miserable hovel. Lancelot, why can't you just take me with you?"

"You know why," he said, letting out a weary sigh as he reached up to help her dismount. "Come on, let's go inside and get something to eat."

"No," she retorted, glaring down at him with a stubborn scowl on her dirty face. "You must be mad if you expect me to stay in a place like this."

Lancelot shook his head in frustration. After having dealt with more than two weeks of constant griping, he wasn't the least bit surprised by her negative reaction. Throughout the course of their journey, all she'd talked about was how much she hated the meager food he managed to provide, the hours on horseback, the lack of fresh clothing or hot baths. There'd been no end to her causes for complaint, or reasons why she held him personally responsible for her misery.

Whenever a sharp retort would cross his mind, however, it had been the look in her eyes that had silenced his tongue. It was a haunting combination of hurt, fear, and vulnerability that revealed the real reason behind her growing resentment. She was terrified by the realization that the only person in the world she had to rely on was a man who'd rejected her and intended to leave her to fend for herself among strangers.

 _There's no other option,_ he reminded himself firmly as he made another attempt to urge her down from the horse.  _Why must she make this so much more difficult than it needs to be?_

"Millie..."

"Stop it!" she hissed furiously as he reached up in an attempt to pry her fingers free from the horse's mane. "I told you, I'm  _not_ going in there!"

"Millie, I don't have the patience for this," he said tersely, feeling the last of his sympathy fading away in the face of her continued resistance. "I'm exhausted and half starved and I'm sure I'm not the only one. Now let's go inside and get something to eat. Get down."

"Neither of us would be so hungry to begin with if you weren't such a miserable hunter."

He ignored the insult, not giving a damn what she thought of his lackluster hunting skills or any of the other shortcomings that inspired her constant abuse. Suddenly, the overwhelming desire to get her settled and be rid of her company as quickly as possible didn't make him feel so guilty anymore. Regardless of the reasoning behind it, he wasn't sure how much longer he could tolerate her sniping.

"Am I going to have to remove you from this horse myself?"

"Try it and see what happens," she said, giving him a challenging smirk.

He made to reach for her, with every intention of grabbing her around the waist and pulling her down from the horse whether she liked it or not. Before he could touch her, however, she kicked him in the chest with what must have been all the strength she possessed. He stumbled backward with a grunt of surprise, losing his balance and landing hard on his backside.

Stunned by the blow, he struggled to take in the air that had been knocked out of him, even as he fought to control the helpless rage that overwhelmed him at the sound of her merry laughter.

"I am going inside," he practically snarled as he rose to his feet. "Join me or stay out here and starve like a stubborn fool. It makes no difference to me."

* * *

Despite his anger, the exhaustion that lay heavy upon his shoulders, and the insistent hunger that had plagued him for hours, he felt better the instant he stepped through the door of the inn. His nostrils filled with the odors of roasting meat and wood smoke, comforting, familiar smells that made him feel more at home than he had for as long as he could remember.

"Now there's one ugly face I thought I'd never see again!" bellowed a cheerful voice, and he couldn't help the grin that spread across his face as a heavyset woman wearing a stained apron made her way across the room. She raised a hand to smooth the messy tendrils of blonde hair back from her brow, leaving a streak of soot in their place.

"Nessie," he said fondly, relieved that she'd recognized him instantly. "How are you?"

She examined him from head to toe, then sniffed and wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Much better than you by the looks of it. By the smell of it, too. Have you not washed since the last time I saw you?"

"I bathed just this morning, actually," he said with a smile.

"Yes, well, you might want to consider using soap instead of horse dung next time." 

Lancelot's chuckle turned into a grunt of pain as she reached out and thumped him affectionately on the chest. It wasn't a particularly forceful gesture, but his flesh was already tender and beginning to bruise from the brutal kick he'd received just a few minutes before. She looked at him curiously, her casually lifted eyebrow doing little to disguise the concern in her pale blue eyes.

"You all right?"

"Yes," he responded a little uncertainly. "Well, no, not exactly. What I mean is, I was wondering if I might speak with you for a moment? And if I might have a little something to eat?"

Nessie smacked her forehead. "Of course! Listen to me rattling on about baths and other such nonsense, while you're standing here looking for all the world like a man who hasn't had a decent meal in weeks. Go and find yourself a table. I'll be back as soon as I can."

A few minutes later, Lancelot hungrily devoured a plate of roasted chicken as she settled herself at the table across from him. She waited patiently, allowing him time to finish his meal before seeming to expect him to speak. It didn't take long.

"Thank you," he said gratefully, pausing to take a drink of ale as he struggled to find the words to explain his current predicament. "I should tell you why I disappeared without a word the last time I was here. I'm sure you must have wondered what…"

Nessie interrupted him by waving a dismissive hand, a careless action that was sharply contradicted by the avid curiosity in her eyes. "You know I don't ask questions. Figured you had your reasons. Every man does."

"Sometimes those who ask the fewest questions are the most deserving of answers," he responded quietly. "You were kind to me. Kinder than anyone has been for as long as I can remember. You're entitled to an explanation."

She looked pleased, even as she fidgeted uncomfortably in her chair. "Wasn't that kind."

Lancelot let the comment pass, knowing she'd never openly acknowledge the gentle heart that lay beneath her brusque manners and careless insults. Instead, he took a deep breath and told her everything that had happened since the moment he'd been ambushed in the woods. He spoke nothing of what had passed between himself and Millie, of course, but it was clear by her raised eyebrow that she came to her own conclusions where that was concerned.

"Sounds like you've had a rough time of it. Glad to hear you killed the bastard, though I'm surprised you didn't do it sooner. Oh well, suppose it doesn't matter now that it's done. You're alive and free, aren't you? Couldn't ask for a better outcome than that. What are you planning to do now? And what about this... companion of yours?"

"I have the means to secure more than enough gold to provide for us both. Myself and Millie, I mean. But it's hard, dangerous work and I can't take her with me. I'll be around the same kind of men who've mistreated her all her life. I can't expose her to that again. "

"No, you most certainly can't. I'm assuming you mean to continue with the mercenary fighting then?"

"Yes. It's the best option I have."

She studied him with sympathetic eyes. "You're better than that, you know."

"Even if that's true, it doesn't matter," he said with a heavy sigh. "I see no other opportunity available to me, other than struggle and probable starvation once winter comes. Even if I was willing to accept that for myself, I can't inflict that sort of hardship on someone who's depending on me for survival. She needs..."

"I wasn't trying to talk you out of doing what you need to do," Nessie interrupted him, speaking more gently than she ever had in his presence. "I know the way the world works, Lancelot. Ordinary men are forced to sell their souls for a bit of bread, while high lords feast themselves without needing to lift a finger. In the end, we do what we must to survive. It's just good to to be reminded that it's not the fate you deserve."

"Thank you," he said softly, touched by the words.

She cut him off with an awkward snort, plump cheeks turning red with embarrassment. "Listen to me, blathering on about all sorts of nonsense. Must be getting senile in my old age."

"I need to leave her here with you," he said abruptly, giving up the struggle to find a more tactful way to broach the subject. "I'm sorry to ask, but I have nowhere else to take her. I know I have no right to request favors of you, but..."

"Every man has a right to ask for help when he needs it, Lancelot. But whether or not a person has the means to  _provide_  that assistance is another matter entirely. There's barely enough coin to keep food on my table as it is anymore, even without another mouth to feed. As you can see," she paused to wave her hand around the empty room, "there are few paying customers around here these days."

"No, I didn't mean..." Lancelot responded hastily, embarrassed that he hadn't made his intentions more clear to begin with. "I mean, I'd pay you. Of course I would. I'd be happy to cover all of her expenses, as well as a little something extra for your trouble."

Of course, he could only hope he'd be able to find the number of opportunities it would require to maintain such a commitment.

If Nessie shared that thought, she didn't voice her concerns. "She must mean a great deal to you if you're willing to make such a sacrifice," she commented instead. "Won't be easy to leave behind the woman you love, you know. Sure you can manage it?"

"I don't love her," he said flatly. "I've never loved her."

It might have been unnecessary to say it aloud, but leaving someone under the impression that he loved anyone other than Gwen made him feel ill. It was a lie his heart simply wasn't able to tolerate. Yes, leaving the woman he loved behind had been agony. Leaving Millie, however, would be a welcome relief.

Nessie studied his face, then gave a nod of satisfaction. "Just as I suspected," she said without a trace of surprise in her voice. "You really are doing this for unselfish reasons. Admit it – the girl herself means nothing to you, even if you might feel some sense of obligation toward her."

"You tricked me," Lancelot said aloud, quickly realizing she must have known he'd never own up to the truth if she'd asked him outright. She'd preyed on his instinctive reactions instead, which he had to admit was quite an effective strategy.

"Of course I tricked you," she said nonchalantly. "You men have your fists and swords. But women have our own ways of getting what we want, and the weapons we use aren't always tits and tail. Best you remember that, Lancelot, in case one of us actually wants to do you harm someday."

He nodded solemnly, inwardly amused by her harmless manipulation. "I believe the one I left outside would like to do me a great deal of harm, now that you mention it."

"Well, can't say that I blame her!" she exclaimed with a chuckle. "Anyway, you know I'm going to help you, softhearted fool that I am. How much longer are you going to leave her sitting out there to wonder? Poor thing must be as famished as you were just a little while ago."

"I didn't tell her to wait," he admitted, desperately hoping she wouldn't change her mind when she realized how difficult Millie could be. "She refused to come inside. She's been... a little hard to live with since I made my intentions known. When I tried to get her to dismount, she kicked me."

Nessie stared at him in disbelief. "Show me."

"What?"

"Lift up your shirt and show me where she kicked you. That's why you flinched when you first came in and I smacked you there, isn't it? Show it to me."

Reluctantly, Lancelot rose and lifted the tattered hem of his shirt to reveal the angry purple bruise, unable to help a wince as she came around the table to probe at it with gentle fingers. Something dark flitted across her features and without warning, she was storming across the room with eyes full of righteous fury.

"Nessie!" he called after her. "I wouldn't..."

The heavy door slammed shut with a resounding thud.

She returned only a few minutes later, wearing a satisfied smile on her broad face as a shamefaced Millie followed closely in her footsteps. Lancelot watched in amazement as the latter came to stand in front of him, bowing her head as she mumbled what sounded very much like an apology.

"What was that?" Nessie asked briskly as she hovered over the younger girl. "We can't quite hear you."

Millie cleared her throat and spoke a little more loudly. "Lancelot, I am truly sorry for my appalling behavior these past two weeks."

"And?" Nessie encouraged her.

"I should be ashamed of myself for treating you the way I have, considering everything you've done to help me. Please be assured that I'll be much more mindful of my attitude in the future."

_"And?"_

Millie hesitated for a moment, then quickly opened her mouth to speak when she noticed Nessie's warning glare.

"And I am a horse's ass."

"Good!" the older woman proclaimed with a satisfied grin as she winked at a speechless Lancelot. "Very good. Now let's get you some food, Millie, and then I'll see that you're properly settled. I've no doubt you'll be quite comfortable here."

Millie followed her without protest.


	40. A Twist of Fate

#  **Chapter 40: A Twist of Fate**

* * *

Lancelot set forth from Oakview with little more than the ragged clothing on his back, a few silver coins, and his trusted sword. Selling both horses had been difficult, but he'd wanted to leave behind as much gold as possible to provide for Millie's care. There was no way to be certain when he might be able to send more.

A quick search of the saddlebags hadn't yielded much, but he'd pocketed a rusty dagger along with a small vial he could only conclude was the sleeping draught Jack had used to aid their escape from Greytower. Lancelot firmly believed in open combat rather than tricks, but he also preferred subterfuge over death if it came down to a choice between the two.

He'd been at another man's mercy once because he'd refused to think beyond the sword in his hand. It would not happen again.

Several days of travel by foot brought him to the next village, where he immediately found his way to the local tavern. He parted with a good portion of his pitifully small collection of coins in exchange for a tankard of mead, hoping for the information he sought.

His questions yielded nothing.

The second settlement resulted in a similar disappointment, immediately followed by a third and a fourth that proved fruitless. Weeks of travel, and his dogged efforts only rewarded him with blistered feet and empty pockets, followed by the disheartening realization that the hunger that gnawed at his belly, a feeling he knew all too well and despised more than any other, was soon to become his constant reality all over again.

The thought of starvation was unbearable, enough motivation to continue on his quest no matter how hopeless it seemed. He soon found it difficult to recall any purpose beyond that… not the girl he'd left behind or the obligation that had set him upon his current path. Everything else faded into the background, overpowered by the desperate need to fight for his own survival.

"Don't look much like a mercenary," the sullen woman in the next tavern observed rudely. "Don't look like much at all, if you ask me. What sort of paid fighter can't even afford a cup of ale?"

Lancelot stared longingly at the pitcher in her hand, fighting the temptation to beg for a sip. Just one taste... and if he were lucky, maybe even a crust of bread to go along with it? The craving for  _anything_ other than the roots, berries, and river water he'd survived on for weeks was maddening.

But he couldn't quite bring himself to do it, a decision that was made far easier as the barmaid scowled and told him, "If you ain't gonna pay, then get out."

"Now, now, there's no need for that," scolded a stout, silver haired man who was seated nearby. Lancelot turned to look at him, immediately noticing the fine quality of his clothing beneath the thick layer of dirt that seemed permanently embedded in the fabric.

"You gonna buy his drinks?" the woman snapped back. "If so , then cough up some coin. If not, I'll thank you to stay out of my business."

The man let out a bark of boisterous laughter. "Wench, if I stayed out of your business, you'd hardly have any business at all. This shithole isn't exactly booming with customers, in case you hadn't noticed."

Lancelot listened to the exchange, wondering whether it would be wiser to stay or leave, when the man spoke again.

"You!" he called, waving his tankard vaguely in Lancelot's direction. "Come here! Sit down and tell me your name. I'll buy you a drink."

Lancelot accepted gratefully, not caring who the man was or what he might want when a bowl of stew and a bit of bread was ordered on his behalf. All he knew was that it was the first chance he'd had to fill his belly in weeks, and there was no telling when he might have another.

"Fighter, eh?" the man said, raising a thick silver eyebrow. "If that's true, then why in the hell are you asking a  _barmaid_ where to find opportunities? Might as well ask a sheep herder to forge your weapons or a blacksmith to tailor your clothes. Don't make no sense."

Lancelot swallowed the last of his stew, then paused to clear his throat. "I've only been in one man's service and that... well, that came about in an unusual way. It just seemed that a tavern would be the best place to seek such information."

The man laughed. "Oh, it is! But you don't ask a wench. She don't know nothing and even if she did, she'd never tell you. Dangerous for that kind to talk too much, if you catch my meaning."

Lancelot suddenly remembered Nessie's insistence that she wasn't the type to ask questions, then felt foolish upon the realization that any woman in such a rough business would obviously have to be cautious for the sake of her own safety. It was no wonder they'd all stared at him as if he were a simpleton when he'd come around seeking information.

"Then whom do I speak with?" he inquired, humbled by his own ignorance.

"Bandits," the man said with a sly smile. "Drunkards and thieves. Walk into a tavern, look for the worst of the lot and start there."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "But..."

"You ain't looking for a seamstress to sew you pretty dresses, son," the man interrupted with a chuckle. "It's dirty work you're wanting and you'll have to mix with unsavory types to find it. But if that's beneath your standards..."

"Nothing's beneath my standards anymore," Lancelot said bluntly, not feeling even the slightest twinge of pain at the words. "I just need to fight."

The stranger broke into a huge grin. "That's what I was hoping you'd say. Well, let me give you your first opportunity, eh?"

* * *

Fighting for the first man earned Lancelot enough coin to buy a mail shirt and slightly better clothing for himself. Service to the second enabled him to send enough gold to tide Millie over for several weeks, and the third allowed him to purchase a rawboned old stallion that made travel significantly easier.

Opportunities came effortlessly after that, once he'd learned who to talk to and the right questions to ask. He rode from one nameless destination to another, putting all the strength he had into the brutal fights. Again and again, he emerged bruised and bloody, then holed up somewhere for several days to recover from his wounds.

For months, that hard, isolated way of living was all he knew, an existence he only found bearable by shutting down and focusing on what was required to ensure his survival. What was the safest route through dark, perilous forests? Which strategy would it take to leave his faceless opponent dead on the ground at his feet as quickly as possible?

Even when he lay alone in some unknown inn, body exhausted and aching from his most recent fight, he didn't have it in him to feel sorrow over his miserable fate, nor to dwell on emotions such as loneliness or despair. He didn't allow himself to feel much at all during those endless nights, other than a vague, tired determination to make it through the following day.

Living ceased to mean anything beyond drawing his next breath. Everything else was gone.

* * *

One chilly afternoon in late autumn, Lancelot's travels brought him to a large village within the kingdom of Mercia. He found his way to the local tavern, seated himself at a table in the corner and carefully surveyed the room, finally settling on a pair of ruffians who looked as if they'd rather rob a man blind than answer a question.

With a nod of satisfaction, he gestured to the barmaid and whispered his request. A few minutes later, they both fixed him with a suspicious glare as they accepted their free drinks, but offered little protest when he rose and joined them.

"What's this for?" asked the first man, scowling at him with a face full of blackened teeth.

Lancelot affected an innocent expression. "I only wanted to ask you a question. The ale seemed like a sensible way to show my gratitude in advance for your help."

Both men looked unnerved by the unexpected courtesies.

"Whatever it is, we didn't do it, we haven't seen it, and we don't know what happened to it," the second man growled, reaching up to scratch at his scraggly beard. "Does that answer your question?"

"Not exactly," Lancelot said with an understanding smile. "I merely wanted to ask if you were aware of any fighting opportunities nearby. I need to earn a little gold."

A predictable expression passed over their dirty faces, one he'd learned to expect after months of dealing with such men. It hadn't taken him long to figure out that the rough types never knew what to make of his quiet nature and courteous manners. They were always relieved to discover he was one of them after all, and the two sitting in front of him were no exception.

"Might," the first muttered. "Doubt you'll be wanting to go there though. Hengist's a nasty sort and that's an understatement. Doesn't help that he feeds friends and enemies alike to those beasts of his whenever he's wanting a bit of sport."

"Aye," the second agreed with a chuckle. "And that champion of his? Probably crush you like an ant if you got in a cage with him."

"Pays well though, if the rumors are true," the first man said, and that was all Lancelot needed to hear.

"Where might I find this... Hengist?"

The man with the scraggly beard raised a bushy eyebrow. "Two days' journey south of here. Big castle. Hard to miss."

"Thank you for all your help," he said dispassionately, rising to his feet and tossing a coin on the table. "Buy yourselves another drink."

* * *

_I'm going to die._

For hours, there had been no other thought in Gwen's mind.

The realization had come upon her when their party had been attacked by bandits on what was meant to be a peaceful journey to visit Morgana's father's grave. She'd watched in horror as the Knights of Camelot who'd been sent along to ensure their protection had been brutally cut down, their lifeless corpses providing no buffer between herself and certain death.

Morgana had rallied against their captors, seeing an opportunity for escape and seizing it without hesitation. She hadn't seemed to think about the risk involved in undressing in front of such merciless men, or the fact that the temptation of the naked flesh she'd provided as a distraction could have just as easily led to a brutal violation.

Gwen had never admired her more than she had in that moment, yet every thrum of her pounding heart as they'd fled their attackers had seemed to shout the words, leaving no room for thought of escape or hope of rescue. She'd run by instinct alone, because it was the only thing  _to_ do... but the overwhelming fear within her told her it was a futile effort.

_I'm going to die._

Then she'd fallen, rendered helpless by a cramp in her leg. She'd insisted that Morgana go on without her, and in that at least, there'd been a great deal of comfort. Perhaps there was a small chance she might make it out alive, even if it was too late for Gwen herself.

When the captors had decided on an alternate plan, it had almost been a relief to hear the man swear that she'd be killed if she refused. Perhaps because the threat confirmed that she was  _right_ to feel so frightened and helpless, and that it was no fault of her own that she could see little hope for her own survival?

And yet hope must have been within her somewhere, as she agreed to go along with the deception rather than lose her life. She  _wanted_ to live, even if she knew she was only prolonging the inevitable in agreeing to impersonate Morgana and be presented to the man named Hengist to be held for ransom. After all, who would pay large sums of gold in order to rescue a servant?

Nonetheless, she played along, maintaining her composure and affecting a haughty disposition that was a surprisingly accurate impression of quite a few members of the nobility, even if it bore little resemblance to Morgana herself. Hengist seemed entirely convinced that she was exactly who she claimed to be, and the lie bought her precious time.

 _Time... time for what?_  Gwen wondered as her arm was grabbed none too gently and she was escorted below to the cells. Time to imagine how they'd kill her when they knew the truth? Time to live out the rest of her life locked in a dungeon, frightened and alone, with no chance of escape?

It didn't matter. Hopeless situation or not, she couldn't bring herself to surrender to what felt like the inevitable. Even the realization that continuing with such a lie would probably infuriate Hengist and increase her suffering in the end wasn't enough for her to admit the truth.

She'd been in her cell for several hours when she heard a heavy pair of boots echoing through the stone corridor. There was a sharp clanging of metal, and the door swung open to reveal a filthy man who fixed her with a black toothed grin that made her shudder in disgust.

His beady eyes immediately dropped to her chest, leering at breasts that were far more exposed than they ever would've been in one of her own dresses. Gwen swallowed hard, resisting the urge to reach up and cover herself, even as her stomach churned with fear.

"How  _dare_ you look at me that way?" she demanded, feeling satisfied when her voice didn't tremble. "Don't you know who I am?"

The man chuckled carelessly, not troubling to avert his gaze. "Oh yes," he said in a voice that was far too suggestive for her liking. "You're our royal guest. And Hengist has ordered a fine banquet in your honor, along with the best entertainment he has to offer. Come."

Seeing little choice in the matter, Gwen followed him out of the cell and up the stairs, then down a corridor that opened into what she assumed must be the main hall of the castle, which was curiously dominated by what appeared to be a large cage. She cringed as the rough looking men who filled the room ceased their conversation, focusing all their attention on her.

Hengist was seated at a high table that was laden down with steaming platters and jugs of ale, grinning at her as she approached.

"Ah, the Lady Morgana has arrived!" he announced with a great deal of flourish. "Be seated and let me feast you as you deserve!"

Gwen reluctantly took the seat he offered, closing her eyes against a wave of nausea as a fly buzzed past her face and landed on a haunch of half cooked meat. It didn't matter that she hadn't eaten since early that morning – the idea of food was downright repulsive.

"What can I serve you, Lady Morgana?" Hengist questioned in a solicitous tone. "I'd recommend some of the boar. Just killed it this morning, and let me tell you what a fight that was! When I shoved my spear between her eyes, she..."

"I'm not hungry," she interrupted hastily, not wanting to imagine what he'd been about to say. "Nor am I interested in hearing your disgusting stories. I'll just sit here, thank you."

The crowd of men roared with laughter, and for a moment, she was afraid Hengist might be embarrassed or even angered by her haughty reaction. Instead, there was a distinct twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

"Silence!" he bellowed. "Our royal guest, Lady Morgana, has grown bored! She needs... entertaining."

Suddenly, Gwen realized what the cage was for. A large, brutal looking man with a bald head and a thickly muscled chest burst out of the gate inside, feinting and growling menacingly at the men who cheered enthusiastically at him through the iron bars.

"Bring on the challenger!" Hengist called gleefully, and upon his words, another man entered the cage.

 _It can't be..._  Gwen gasped in disbelief. She stared. Her mouth fell open and her stomach tied in knots.  _It can't be him. It must be another man. A man with his face, his body, a man who moves just the way I remember. But it can't be him._

And then those warm brown eyes fell upon her, hauntingly familiar eyes that mirrored the emotion that must've been reflected in her own stunned gaze. In that moment, her mind spoke a truth her heart had known from the second he'd entered the room.

_Lancelot._


	41. Awakening

#  **Chapter 41: Awakening**

* * *

Of all the savage blows Lancelot had received during countless fights, he'd never been struck half as hard as he was by the sheer force of laying his eyes on Gwen's face again.

At first he thought it must be some trick of the imagination, a lovely image conjured up to bring comfort to a mind that had known nothing but harshness and brutality for far too long. Then in the span of a heartbeat, he realized it wasn't a dream at all; logical thought shut down, blindsided by an onslaught of emotion that threatened to bring him to his knees.

Gwen.

She was there...  _and she was real_. His body knew it instinctively, could feel the truth of her presence in the way his skin seemed to come alive under the power of her disbelieving stare. Their eyes met, and within that soft gaze that had haunted his dreams for what seemed like a lifetime, he saw shocked recognition, swiftly followed by confusion and fear.

It was the fear that brought him back to his senses somewhat. He struggled for composure, even as a low, menacing voice returned him to a reality where there were more pressing matters at hand.

"Only one of you will emerge from the cage alive," Hengist growled, clearly relishing the taste of the threat in his mouth. "Do you accept the challenge?"

 _As if there was a choice,_  Lancelot thought vaguely as he bowed to indicate his assent.  _As if I wouldn't be killed for sport if I refused._

Without hesitation, his opponent struck and then the fight was upon him. He parried the flurry of brutal blows by instinct alone, even as his mind begged for answers to questions that jarred him more forcefully than the hulking man in front of him could ever hope to do.

_What is she doing in a place like this?_

He ducked swiftly, managing to avoid a swing that would have taken his head clean off his shoulders. The other man grunted and growled, striking faster and harder, building the intensity of the fight as Lancelot proved to be a challenge he hadn't expected.

_What could Hengist possibly want with her?_

The two swords clashed in a struggle for dominance; Lancelot strained against his opponent's brute strength, muscles screaming in protest as the other man pushed against him harder and harder and... he forced the other blade down with a gasp of relief.

_If any harm comes to her, I will kill him by inches. I swear upon my life, I will._

Thirsty for blood, the merciless crowd roared out their approval at the relentless succession of brutal blows Hengist's champion rained down upon Lancelot, driving him backward as he continued to block and defend.

 _Only a little longer,_  he reassured himself as he struggled in vain to focus all his attention on combat.  _He'll begin to tire soon, and then I'll finish him._

Right on the heels of that thought, he caught a glimpse of Gwen out of the corner of his eye, just as Hengist leaned over and whispered something in her ear. She shrank back, repulsed by the crude words he must have spoken, and Lancelot's heart filled with hot, blinding rage. Suddenly, the fight at hand was the last thing on his mind.

_If he puts his hands on her, damn him, I swear I'll..._

He grunted in pain as a sharp elbow drove into his back, a vicious blow that sent him reeling into the bars of the cage with a bone jarring crash.

 _No, I need to focus._  He swerved to the side, narrowly missing a swing that was clearly intended to split his skull.  _I cannot be defeated. I will not leave her here at the mercy of these animals._

And they  _were_ animals, beastly creatures who deserved far worse than the scorn he'd just glimpsed on Gwen's face. Somehow, during all the months he'd spent in the company of such vile men, he'd forgotten what they truly were. But in that moment, he saw with absolute clarity how they must appear to her – their merciless nature, their crudeness, their lust for violence and suffering. 

It had taken Gwen's eyes, not his own, to finally show him the truth.

Suddenly, he had the sickening realization that to her, he must seem no different than the detestable bandits, the criminals and murderers who filled the room. What could she possibly see that would set him apart from terrible men like Hengist himself, who'd so rightfully earned her contempt?

_Good lord, what have I allowed myself to become?_

The thought filled him with rage, and he suddenly found himself fighting with a passion he hadn't felt in years. He went on the offensive, and every deafening crash of his sword seemed to cry out in helpless fury against the hardships that had befallen him in the years since he'd left Camelot, rebelling against all the dishonorable things they'd driven him to do despite his best intentions.

When he lashed out, it wasn't the face of his opponent he saw, but that of a hopeful young man who'd only ever wanted to do right in the world. He struck again and again, his blows harder and more relentless, as he saw the innocent joy in that youthful face melt away, buried beneath an avalanche of shattered dreams and crushing disappointment.

The visage became gaunt with starvation, dominated by haunting eyes that spoke of the soul deep loneliness that had become so much a part of who he was that he couldn't recall the last time he'd even been consciously aware of his own isolation. The image of his features changed with time, showing him a succession of desperation, fear, sadness and finally, a sort of hopeless resignation.

All his long suppressed emotions finally vented themselves in an onslaught of physical force that could not be contained, and being on the receiving end of such intensity was too much for the other man to withstand for long. One final assault and he was down, sprawled helplessly on his back in the face of Lancelot's unexpected fury.

In that moment, he barely noticed the familiar combination of terror and acceptance in the defeated champion's eyes. With his sword poised for the death blow, he couldn't help another glance at Gwen.

When his eyes met hers, still so innocent, open and honest, despite the fear he recognized in their depths, his anger melted away as swiftly as it had come. He withdrew his sword, sparing the man's life, despite the fact that he'd finished dozens just like him without a second thought.

_No, I will not do it… not in front of her. Hengist can have me killed if he likes. I will not do it._

Instantly relieved by the decision, he suddenly realized that the feeling went deeper than his reluctance to expose Gwen to such brutality. He felt an echo within himself, a voice which spoke to him of mercy, of justice and of honor, recalling all the beliefs he'd had to push aside for the sake of survival. They made themselves known only as a faint whisper, not as the thunderous shout they'd once been. But in that moment, he knew they were still a part of him somewhere deep inside.

He emerged from the cage and went to stand before Hengist, far more fearful of the realization dawning in Gwen's eyes as he received his payment than he was of imminent death.

"What is your name?" Hengist questioned in a mild voice.

He spared the man little more than a glance before he fixed his eyes on her again, frantically searching her expression for some answer to his numerous questions. The look on her face was guarded, suspicious, showing him nothing of what she might be feeling or how she'd come to be in such a wretched place. It was maddening.

Maddening... and probably necessary for her own safety, whether she realized it or not.

"My name is Lancelot," he replied automatically.

"You have proven yourself to be a skillful warrior," Hengist said with an approving nod. "I believe you may have even impressed our royal guest… Lady Morgana."

 _Lady Morgana?_  A dozen possibilities buzzed through his mind, none of which seemed even remotely plausible. With a great deal of effort, he pushed them all away, affecting what he hoped was a bland expression as he gave Gwen a respectful bow.

"My lady."

 _I'm not a knight, yet, my lady,_  a faint voice echoed in his mind, carrying him back to a time of beauty and innocence and hopeful dreams.

 _And I'm not a lady,_  the memory of her whispered back to him, accompanied by a shy giggle that still set his heart aflutter after what seemed like a lifetime since he'd heard it from her lips.

"Next time you fight, do not expect any mercy," Hengist growled, and Lancelot hated him for bringing him back to the present reality. "Release the Wilddeoren!"

The gate inside the cage opened, and what appeared to be a giant rat emerged, baring teeth that must have been as long as a man's forearm, The hideous creature sniffed the air, then let out a series of piercing shrieks that made Lancelot's blood run cold. As the crowd jeered their encouragement, the defeated champion struggled in vain to crawl away from its gaping jaws, screaming first in terror and then in agony as the beast tore into his flesh.

Lancelot cringed in disgust, turning his head away from the brutal scene. 

Gwen... his eyes fell upon her again, relieved to find that her gaze was averted as well. She was staring at him instead, suspicious, distrustful, and he could read the question in her sudden glare as clearly as if it had been spoken aloud. What was he doing there, working for a man who was capable of such atrocities?

"I believe we've all had had enough entertainment for tonight," Hengist announced cheerfully. "It's late, and I have a whore with the biggest tits you ever saw waiting in my chamber. Escort Lady Morgana back to her cell." He suddenly paused, giving Gwen a suggestive leer. "Unless, of course, she'd like to accompany me upstairs. Plenty of room for three in my bed."

She recoiled from his proffered hand, shaking her head vehemently with an expression of panicked revulsion. Helpless rage boiled up inside Lancelot and his fists clenched, trembling with effort as he resisted the urge to grab Hengist and smash his face into the nearest wall. How dare he suggest such a vile thing? Far worse, what if Gwen's refusal wasn't enough to hold him at bay?

What would Lancelot do if he tried to drag her upstairs and have his way with her? He knew he couldn't kill him, though that was a reaction that would come to him as naturally as drawing his next breath. No, such an act would bring the swarm of two, perhaps three dozen men that filled the room down upon him. Then he'd surely die, leaving Gwen at the mercy of them all.

It was sickening to realize that the same man Gwen needed to be protected  _from_ was also the only buffer that was shielding her from a far worse fate.

Rather than forcing the issue, however, Hengist roared with laughter and rose to his feet, treating her to an exaggerated, mocking bow. "Very well, Lady Morgana. If it's the company of the rats in the dungeon you prefer, who am I to deny such an honored guest?"

Anger suddenly flared in Gwen's dark eyes, an emotion Lancelot had never seen there before.  _Say nothing,_  his own stare silently begged her as she glanced his way.  _Do not provoke him while I'm powerless to protect you. Please, say nothing._

He could only show so much without arousing suspicion, but she seemed to understand his meaning nonetheless. Giving a slight nod, she pressed her lips tightly together and meekly submitted when two guards came to lead her away. He stood by helplessly, terrified to let her out of his sight, even as he knew pretended indifference to be the only protection he could offer her for the time being.

Before he knew it, she was gone, a trail of delicate purple silk having followed her out of the room.

* * *

Gwen sank down on the narrow bed in her cell, relieved her trembling legs had managed to hold her upright throughout the long walk to the dungeons. Taking a deep breath, she stared at the drab, gray walls, struggling to make sense of the wildly conflicting emotions that were raging inside her.

Lancelot...  _Lancelot,_  living, breathing and  _real_ , so much more powerful than the faint whisper of memory which had long ago ceased to have any solid place in the reality of her existence. He'd lingered in her mind as pieces of a dream, flashes of longing looks and of passionate kisses on a warm summer night. Just a dream... nothing more.

The real Lancelot had been lost her forever. She'd  forced herself to accept that when the months, and then well over a year had passed without word from him. Yes, she'd had to let go for her own sake, left behind for so long without any indication that the feelings between them had ever even real outside of her own mind.

Had she truly put him behind her? 

Two months ago, two weeks ago, even two hours ago, the answer to that question would have been a definite yes. But that had been before he'd come back into her life without warning, awakening feelings that had only ever existed for him.

And yet she'd swallowed her emotions, finding some sense of resolve in the reminder that the man before her was not the boy she'd known back in Camelot. If he were, how could he possibly stand to be in the service of someone as despicable as Hengist? Why would he be working in such a wretched place, fighting with no other purpose beyond his own profit?

Gwen had heard many things about mercenary fighters, and none of them had ever been good. They were the lowest form of humanity; men who fought without a shred of honor or dignity, happy to end life after life just to line their own pockets with gold.

How could Lancelot... had he really changed so much? Had he never been the man she'd believed him to be to begin with? Or was there some other reason behind the shameful life he now lived?

 _I mustn't come to any conclusions without allowing him to speak for himself,_ she decided, finding that giving him the benefit of the doubt brought her a great deal of relief. Whatever the reason might be for what he was doing, she could still see goodness in him. It had been plain on his face when he'd chosen to spare his opponent, and then when he'd looked at her, for all that he'd tried to appear as if he were unaffected by her presence. If he'd had no honor left, he wouldn't have...

"Gwen!" whispered a familiar voice from a small opening above.

Despite herself, her heart fluttered with giddy anticipation as she rose to her feet.


	42. A Glimpse of Hope

#  **Chapter 42: A Glimpse of Hope**

* * *

"Lancelot?" Gwen murmured breathlessly as she stared at the familiar face through the grated window. As soon as his gentle brown eyes met hers, still full of the kindness and honesty she remembered so well, she knew her worst suspicions couldn't possibly be true.

His warm smile was much more comforting than the stoic facade he'd shown earlier, making her glad it was no longer necessary for either of them to pretend they were strangers. Her heart beat a little faster when she noticed the tenderness in his gaze – a soft, searching look, almost as if he was starved for the sight of her.

 _Don't jump to conclusions,_  she reminded herself, even though that did nothing to suppress the rush of excitement that came with finally being face to face with him again.

"I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw it was you," he said softly.

"I thought my mind was deceiving me," she replied, marveling anew at whatever twist of fate had led to them finding each other in such an unlikely place.

"Why does Hengist think you're Lady Morgana?" he asked curiously, pulling her back to the dismal reality of her circumstances. Her fears had been reduced to a low buzz in the back of her mind up until then, a mere whisper compared with the storm of emotion that had been evoked by his sudden reappearance in her life.

"He believes he's holding Morgana to ransom," she explained quietly, unable to disguise the despair in her voice as she spoke. "When no ransom is paid, he'll realize the truth and then he'll throw me to those beasts."

A grotesque image flashed through her mind as she remembered the brief, yet sickening glimpse she'd had of the champion's mutilated body. For a terrifying moment, she imagined her flesh mangled as his had been, the same bone chilling screams of agony coming from her own lips. Panic rose inside her, until Lancelot's next words somehow managed to silence the dreadful thought.

"I will not allow that to happen."

Later, she'd remember he was only one man in a fortress filled with countless enemies. Then she'd be forced to admit to herself that no matter how much conviction had been in his eyes, there'd be little he could do to rescue her from Hengist's wrath once the truth of her identity was discovered.

For now, however, she desperately wanted to believe him, and so she did.

"What are you doing here? Are you one of Hengist's men?"

"No."

"What became of you after you left Camelot?"

He met her gaze with eyes full of tired resignation."There are few opportunities for men like me, so I've been earning a living the only way I know... with a sword in my hand. It seems it is my destiny to entertain men like Hengist."

There was no need to mention that he'd suffered a great deal of hardship since the last time she'd seen him. It was there on his face – disillusionment, loneliness, despair, along with physical scars that had never marred his features before. More than that was a deep sense of shame over what he'd been reduced to, making her heart ache upon the realization of how much his spirit had been damaged by the harshness of life.

"I don't believe that of you," she said gently. "You were so full of hope."

Something flickered in his eyes before they grew dull again. "I was wrong. The world is not like that."

She reached through the grate to touch his hand, desperate to offer some kind of reassurance. "I still see the hope in you. I do not accept it is gone."

And then she was completely disarmed as he responded with a warm smile, sliding his fingers over hers in a gentle caress. "I have thought of you often. Have you thought of me at all?"

That single touch was all it took to overwhelm her, bringing emotions to life that had long since faded into some distant dream. The intensity of his gaze, the sound of his voice, even the smell of his skin were the same, affecting her just as powerfully as they had years before. How had she ever managed to put the memory of those feelings aside?

"I thought I would never see you again," she responded, though it was more of an attempt to bring some sense to her inner turmoil than a reply to his question.

Any response he might have offered was cut short by the clanging of metal at the door of her cell. 

"Someone's coming!" she whispered urgently.

"No matter what it takes, I will find a way to get you out of here." he promised her, eyes shining with determination as he gave her a reassuring smile. "I will."

* * *

Lancelot returned to the sleeping quarters he'd been given, taking no notice of the narrow bed, battered furniture or even the pair of rats that were rustling around in a bit of dirty straw in the corner. He paced restlessly, one hand gripping the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white.

 _I have to get her out of here,_  was the only coherent thought his overwrought mind managed to produce.  _I have to get her out of here._

The phrase echoed over and over in his head, with each repetition summoning up a different, horrifying image to accompany the words. He fretted helplessly, nearly driving himself mad as he thought of Hengist, the guards, the countless bandits and criminals who filled the fortress, all of which were an imminent threat to Gwen's safety.

Was she even now being subjected to some cruel man's violations down in the dungeon? Could that be why her cell door had been unlocked... so that some stranger might intrude and force himself on her? Had Lancelot walked away and allowed that to happen?

Before he consciously realized what he was doing, he was out the door again, creeping along the empty corridor to reach the grate where she'd appeared to him before. All the while, he was tormented by images of dirty hands ripping away her gown, rough fingers bruising tender flesh... followed by visuals so awful he began to feel physically ill.

When he arrived at his destination, he sank down into a crouch and peered into her cell. His eyes met nothing but darkness.

"Gwen?" he whispered softly.

There was no response.

Was she sleeping... or had she been dragged upstairs to be used by Hengist or one of his friends? Or worse, was he even now summoning those hideous beasts of his to tear her to pieces, having somehow discovered the truth of her identity? Would Lancelot only become aware of this through distant screams of agony as they reverberated throughout the castle, helpless to reach her until it was far too late?

No, he couldn't let that happen. Not to Gwen, who'd looked at him with so much faith in her eyes when he'd promised his protection. No, he couldn't fail her. The rest of the world could burn and he'd watch it fall, but he couldn't allow her to die. No, there had to be another way.

"Gwen!" he whispered again, desperately hoping for a response.

"You there!" called a low, gravelly voice from behind. "What do you think you're doing?"

 _Think_ , he told himself frantically. 

Casually, he rose to his feet, trying to hide his unease behind a stoic face. "I..."

 _Damn you, Lancelot,_ _**think**!_

"I've never seen a real lady up close before," he finally said with a sheepish grin, turning to meet a pair of beady, suspicious eyes. "I was just curious, that's all."

The man suddenly chuckled, reaching up to brush a fringe of dirty black hair out of his eyes. "Curious, you say? That's a polite way of putting it. Can't say as I blame you for trying your luck though. Isn't a man here who wouldn't stick it to that bitch until she begged for mercy."

Lancelot's fingers twitched, fighting the urge to draw his sword and kill the man for daring to speak of Gwen in such a shameful way. 

"Unfortunately, Hengist has given orders that the lady is not to be molested. More valuable to him if she remains unharmed, you see. He stands to make a hefty sum of gold out of this, and that king might not be wanting to pay for damaged goods."

Relieved, Lancelot nodded.

"Anyway, you should be getting back upstairs now," the man said, narrowing his eyes as if he'd just recalled his orders to guard the prisoner. "That is, unless you fancy the idea of being a Wilddeoren's breakfast. Catch you down here again and that's exactly where you'll end up."

The threat had no effect on Lancelot, who just shrugged and walked away. All that mattered was that Gwen was safe… at least as long as Hengist believed her to be a valuable captive. It wasn't much, but perhaps it would buy him enough time to come up with a plan for her rescue. His lone sword against dozens of enemies seemed like hopeless odds, but there had to be some way to free her... there  _had_ to be.

"I still see the hope in you," she'd said, her eyes shining with that sweet innocence that had somehow remained untouched during the years they'd spent apart.

He'd known it was true in the instant she'd said it, a feeling that had only grown stronger as the words had repeated themselves in his mind. Whatever he'd lost in himself – faith, hope, courage, and honor – still existed in his feelings for her. He could never truly give up as long as she lived and breathed, not while he still had the strength to offer her protection when she needed it most.

That was the hope she'd seen in his eyes, though she'd probably never realize it had all been for her. She was the only thing that mattered to him anymore; he'd gladly do whatever it took to see that she escaped this awful place.

What would come after her rescue was another matter entirely; there was no denying that he'd ultimately be losing her all over again. By some strange twist of fate, he'd found her in a situation where she had no one else to depend on... but that would mean nothing if he succeeded in getting her out of here. He'd see her safely home to Camelot, then return to a dismal reality where he had no place in her world anymore.

But no, it was selfish to dwell on that. As long as she was happy, it shouldn't matter how deeply he still loved her or that she'd grown even more beautiful during the time they'd spent apart. Nor should it make a difference that he couldn't be near her without wanting to take her in his arms, or that the bars between them had made him feel just as imprisoned as she was because they hadn't allowed him to do so.

All of that was irrelevant, because what had once existed between them was gone. Her heart was lost to him now, painfully obvious in the apologetic way she'd told him she'd thought she'd never see him again.

It didn't matter... as long as she was happy.

He wanted to believe that, wished he could without his own needs rising to torment him. He didn't want to think about how much it would hurt to leave everything he loved all over again, fearing it would destroy him to return to the desolate life of meaningless killing he so despised.

But there was no denying the pain that came from wanting so many things he couldn't have. For good or ill, he no longer had the ability to escape into the numb resignation that had been the dominant force in his life for as long as he could remember. He'd lost it in the moment he'd laid eyes on Gwen again… and somehow, he knew she'd closed the door on that part of himself forever.

How he would cope with the aftermath, he did not know.


	43. A Reason to Live

#  **Chapter 43: A Reason to Live**

* * *

"Gwen?"

Her lips curved into a smile as Lancelot's voice spoke to her from within a dream. Promising warmth and safety, the comforting sound wrapped around her like a blanket as she slept, just as the thick velvet cloak she was huddled beneath sheltered her from the chill night air.

She saw him standing in front of her then, giddy, nervous and so endearingly awkward as she grinned up at him and told him her name for the first time.

"Short for Guinevere," she clarified, waiting to hear the response she'd known by heart since the moment it had been spoken.

"Gwen!"

 _No, that isn't it,_  she thought in confusion as she stirred restlessly in her sleep.  _He's supposed to say "Well then, thank you, Guinevere."_ He always sounded happy when he spoke the words, never uncertain and fearful. What was there to be afraid of?

As her unconscious mind struggled to make sense of the unexpected panic in Lancelot's voice, the dream shifted. He was preparing to ride out to face the Griffin, a monstrous creature that had already resisted attacks from countless knights, leaving nothing but their bloody remains in its wake.

Yet even with the threat of almost certain death hanging over his head, she'd seen only bravery and conviction in his eyes, never even a trace of fear.  _She_ might have been terrified, but he'd been steady, calm, and reassuring when he'd spoken his farewells. 

No, the Lancelot she'd known had  _never_ seemed frightened in her presence.

So why did he sound that way now?

"Wilddeoren."

Everything else was a low, indistinguishable hum in Gwen's ears, but one word called out to her like a determined shout.  _Wilddeoren._

"Release the Wilddeoren!" bellowed an unfamiliar voice, and the blackness that had overtaken her sleeping mind opened onto a scene she didn't recognize. She was standing beside a cage, a terrible structure built of cold iron that contained a single captive. Her hands slid between the bars, yearning to offer comfort to the man with the sad, dark eyes, but he was far beyond her reach.

She whimpered his name, but he didn't seem to hear her. His eyes were focused on the monstrous beast that was bearing down on him, an enormous rat like creature with jagged teeth that looked as if they could easily tear a man in half. She rattled the bars and screamed, pleading with him to move, but her warnings were useless. He sat motionless, his eyes full of hopeless resignation, not even crying out in pain as the hideous beast tore into his flesh.

Coming awake with a sharp gasp, she pressed a hand to her swiftly beating heart as she trembled in the darkness. She sat up and gathered Morgana's warm velvet cloak around herself, struggling to bring some sense to the overwhelming terror in her mind.

 _It was only a dream, Gwen,_  she reminded herself again and again.  _Just a dream._

For hours, she sat quietly in her cell and waited for dawn, affecting a stoic expression that showed nothing of her inner turmoil. She reassured herself that Lancelot was safe, probably sleeping at such an early hour; eventually, the thought began to calm her. It was impossible to push the images of her nightmare aside, however, as she considered the reality of the coming day.

It was chilling to realize that the two scenarios probably wouldn't be much different. After all, how much longer could it be before Hengist figured out the truth and sentenced her to the very same death she'd seen in her dream? 

Was there  _any_ hope of escaping her fate?

If Morgana reached Camelot safely, no doubt she'd do everything in her power to convince Uther to help. Arthur would plead her case as well, but would any of their efforts make a difference? The king was a stubborn man who cared nothing about the lives of servants. She'd seen proof of his heartlessness too many times to put any faith in his sense of justice or mercy.

Gwen couldn't help feeling a little ashamed as she realized she'd barely even thought of Arthur since she'd reached Hengist's fortress. Guilt suddenly overwhelmed her as she pictured his eyes, remembering how soft and vulnerable they'd been as he'd watched her ride away from Camelot.

She'd grown to like the way he looked at her, even longing for it when he wasn't around. It felt good to be noticed and admired by someone as handsome as Arthur, and she knew she'd be lying to herself to deny the attraction she'd begun to feel for him in return.

But it was  _nothing_ like the rush of emotion she'd felt when she'd seen Lancelot again. How could anyone compare a slight breeze with a raging tempest?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps out in the corridor, followed by a sharp jingling of keys at the cell door. She began to panic, her empty stomach twisting in knots as she wondered if she was about to meet her end. Had Hengist somehow learned the truth of her identity? Was she only minutes away from being dragged upstairs to be fed to one of his dreadful Wilddeoren?

 _No, not yet,_ pleaded a helpless, frightened voice inside her head, although she refused to show any fear when she rose to face her captor.  _No, please... just a little more time._

"I've not yet received word from Uther that he intends to pay your ransom," Hengist said in a low, suspicious voice that made her tremble. "I was informed that the king was extremely fond of his ward. Are you not surprised he's content to leave you here to die?"

 _Think of Morgana._  

Morgana would _never_  let this man intimidate her. She'd look him dead in the eye, not hesitating to let him know exactly what she thought of him. She'd deny him the satisfaction of seeing her fear, even if it meant her own death.

"How can I know the king's mind when I'm locked in this stinking cell?" Gwen spat coldly, glaring at Hengist like he was dirt beneath her feet.

He stepped closer with a dangerous gleam in his eye, the stench of his unwashed body making her stomach churn with nausea. "If I don't hear from Uther by dawn tomorrow, this stinking cell will be the last place you ever see."

He slammed the door with a deafening crash, leaving the cell even more abruptly than he'd come. The moment he was gone, she sank down on the bed, feeling the strength go out of her legs as her facade of haughty indifference was replaced by helpless fear.

 _There's little hope that anyone in Camelot will be able to reach me before it's too late,_  she thought despairingly.  _All I have now is Lancelot... but what can he possibly do?_

During the cage fight, he'd proven himself to be incredibly skilled with a sword, having surpassed even the considerable abilities that had earned him his former knighthood. But talented or not, what man could hope to succeed against enemies who must outnumber him by fifty to one?

And yet he'd do everything in his power to help her, no matter how impossible the odds might seem. Yes, she would've known that in her heart, even if she  _hadn't_ seen the determination in his eyes or heard the conviction in his voice. Despite the unfortunate circumstances he'd fallen into, Lancelot had always been a knight in his heart, born to defend a just cause to his dying breath.

Gwen stared at the walls of her cell, struggling to reconcile the conflicting emotions of joy and terror in her mind. It was cruel injustice – finding him again despite all odds, just as her life was doomed to meet a tragic end. She might die without ever knowing what  _could_ have been, and for that reason more than any other, she  _hated_ Hengist.

"I have thought of you often," she heard him murmur softly, a memory that sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. "Have you thought of me at all?"

 _Yes,_  she responded to herself without hesitation, surprised at how easy it was to admit her feelings after fighting to deny them for so long. He'd never been far from her thoughts, even when she'd tried to convince herself he was gone from her life forever. Her feelings for him had always been there, no matter how hard she'd tried to deny them.

There were so many things left unsaid, so much she desperately wanted to know. The tenderness she'd seen in Lancelot's eyes made it clear he still cared for her, but what did that mean? If they somehow managed to escape with their lives, what would happen then? Would he return to Camelot with her?

She tried to remind herself not to get her hopes up, only to realize that it was impossible to resign herself to her supposed fate. In the end, it didn't matter how hopeless the situation seemed or how terribly it might end. All the feelings that had been reawakened inside her were strong, so much stronger than fear and despair.

 _I won't lose faith,_  she silently promised, realizing she was making the vow to both herself and Lancelot.  _As long as there's a chance, I won't give up._

* * *

Lancelot roamed the corridors, desperate for an opportunity to check on Gwen. The hours dragged by and his patience wore thin, driven half mad with worry before his restless vigil had even started. Was she all right? Was she safe? Had she begun to lose all hope, or did she trust in his promise to help her escape?

All the while, he observed his surroundings, taking note of any small detail that could possibly aid him in his quest to rescue her. He watched the comings and goings of the guards, tried to memorize any route that might lead out of the castle... and slowly, a plan began to form in his mind.

Mealtimes seemed to be the most ideal chance he'd have to execute an escape. Most of the inhabitants gathered in the main hall to eat, leaving only a small handful of men to guard the rest of the fortress. It had been true the previous night, which was how he'd managed to speak with Gwen without getting caught. He'd noticed it again that morning, though his attempt to reach her had been interrupted when Hengist himself had chosen to visit the dungeon.

He'd listened from the other side of the grate, fear overcoming his fury as he'd picked up on the suspicion in the hated man's voice. The words themselves had been too low to hear, but one thing was certain – they were swiftly running out of time.

Finally, the small groups of men who loitered about the halls began to drift away as the scent of roasting meat filled the air. Lancelot's stomach twisted and churned, not with the hunger he'd forgotten how to feel, but with restless anticipation. 

_Only a few more minutes now..._

Once the corridors were empty, he visited an opening in the floor that he'd discovered would allow him to see down into the dungeons below. Only two guards remained, talking and laughing amongst themselves as one casually stirred a cooking pot. He smiled grimly to himself as the last part of his plan settled firmly into place.

 _Just give me a little longer,_  he silently pleaded, his hands shaking as he approached the familiar grate and knelt down to peer inside.  _A few more hours, that's all I ask._

"Gwen," he whispered softly.

For several agonizing seconds, there was no response. His eyes anxiously searched the cell beneath him, unable to see anything more than half of a deserted room and an empty bed.  _No, don't let it be too late. Please..._

"Lancelot?"

Suddenly, she was there, alive and unharmed on the other side of the bars and Lancelot closed his eyes, quite certain he'd never felt so relieved in his life. "I was terrified I might find your cell empty," he confessed as he remembered how to breathe again.

"There's been no word from Uther," she told him in a small, frightened voice. "I fear Hengist is growing suspicious."

"You must keep up the pretense. I will not allow you to die here."

"What about you?" she asked him softly.

Images flashed through Lancelot's mind, recalling what it was like to fight for no cause other than his own survival. He remembered the deep loneliness that had plagued him, followed by the terrible resignation that had left him unable to feel at all. He'd been dead inside until the sight of Gwen's face had brought him back to life. Finding her had given him a sense of purpose again, but it could only be a temporary relief.

"I have little to live for," he said honestly.

"Do not say that!"

Sweet Gwen, who never seemed to lose faith in him. How could he make her understand how little it mattered whether or not he survived beyond their escape? Without love, without purpose or an honorable cause to fight for, he was a stranger to himself. What would be left when everything he cared about was lost to him forever?

"It's the truth," he said aloud, unable to hide the defeat in his voice. "For all my words, for all that I believed, I have come to nothing."

She reached through the grate to touch his hand, soft fingers clutching his own. "You are everything that is right with this world!" Her eyes filled with tears and suddenly, he could read the emotions on her face as clearly as if they'd been written in ink. 

Tenderness, longing...  **love**.

She  **loved** him. Despite all the years they'd spent apart or what he might've been reduced to during that time, she still felt all the things he'd never stopped feeling for her. It didn't seem possible, and yet there it was, reflected back at him from a pair of vulnerable eyes that remained the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"I didn't know you felt that way," he murmured, wishing it was possible to take her in his arms. Unfortunately, that was out of the question for the time being, so he settled for caressing her fingers instead.

Her voice was soft and slightly breathless when she said, "I didn't know I could feel this way about someone."

"Then you have given me a reason to live," he responded with a smile, though as she reacted to his words with a joyful little laugh, it was suddenly difficult to remember why he'd ever lost faith to begin with.

The sound of distant footfalls in the corridor brought him back to the reality of their current situation. "Be ready," he whispered softly, as he reluctantly released her fingers and prepared to make a hasty departure. "I will come for you before nightfall."


	44. The Cost of Freedom

#  **Chapter 44: The Cost of Freedom**

* * *

"Then you have given me a reason to live."

Lancelot's words echoed in Gwen's mind as she waited quietly in the drab, gray dungeon cell, which no longer seemed dismal at all through her eyes. The dirty straw and rat droppings that littered the floor might as well have been flowers beneath her feet to reflect how beautiful the world appeared to her in that moment.

Breathlessly, she'd watched the realization dawn in his incredulous eyes, her heart melting when he'd given her a radiant smile that had erased all his previous despair. She'd loved the way the emotions had played across his features – disbelief turning into hope, swiftly followed by tenderness and joy. He'd made it abundantly clear that he loved her in return, and that simple truth made the future shine more brightly than the sun.

"I will come for you before nightfall."

The certainty in his voice had left no room for doubt – he'd be at her side in a few short hours, and they'd leave this awful place together. After  _that_...

She smiled to herself as she imagined their journey home to Camelot. She'd take him to Gaius's chamber first, she decided, chuckling as she pictured the surprise on Merlin's face when he realized who was waiting to greet him on the other side of the door. How happy he'd be to have his friend back at long last!

 _Where will he live?_  she wondered eagerly. Gaius and Merlin would probably be glad to have him as a guest again, but Lancelot wouldn't want to impose on them for long. No, what he was need was a permanent home.

Suddenly, she blushed as she thought of the most obvious solution – asking him to move in with her. Perhaps it wouldn't be entirely proper, but it made perfect sense. She lived alone now and besides, Arthur himself had stayed in her home. If the Prince of Camelot could forgo concerns over appearance where necessary, then surely it wouldn't be unreasonable for Lancelot to do the same.

Her blissful mood faded somewhat as she remembered the way Arthur had kissed her while he'd been her guest. How would Lancelot feel if he knew? Should she even tell him? No, it had been nothing. There was no point in giving him cause to worry where there was no reason for it.

She didn't want to hurt Arthur… but there'd been no future in his attraction to her anyway. Surely he understood that already; maybe he'd even be happy for her once he'd had a little time to get used to the idea.

With that thought, she smiled again, quite certain that everything would work out for the best.

"What are you so happy about?" a guard growled in a mocking voice as he burst into the cell without ceremony. "Enjoying your fine accommodations, are you? Well, sorry to disappoint you, your highness, but Hengist is expecting you in the main hall. Brun! Grab her other arm!"

Before Gwen knew what was happening, she was being dragged up the stairs and through the corridors, her gentle musings crushed by the reality of stark terror. The guards handled her roughly, brutal fingers digging into her flesh so hard she was sure her arms would be covered in bruises the following day... if she even managed to live that long.

 _He knows,_  her heart seemed to pound out with its frantic thudding.  _Hengist knows._

She wanted to scream, to fight back, to put up  _some_  kind of resistance, but she knew it would be a futile effort as she was pushed into the cage to face her captor's mercy. The bars slid into place behind her, and then she knew her time had run out.

"Morgana," Hengist muttered in a low, menacing voice, before turning to face her with pitiless eyes. "Morgana! I keep asking myself, 'Why does Uther not pay the ransom?' He's a rich man. Why would he leave his beloved ward to suffer a slow and terrible death?"

He approached with slow, deliberate steps, reminding her of some fearsome predator who might prolong the final moments before it leapt forward to tear into its prey. It was a terrible connection to make under the circumstances, and suddenly, she was sure she could sense the Wilddeoren snuffling in anticipation from behind the gate.

"I don't know," she responded helplessly, cringing in terror as her captor lunged forward to grip her arm in a meaty fist. She tried to back away, only to find herself pinned against the cold iron bars behind her. "Please," she begged in a tiny voice, too frightened to speak beyond a single, desperate word. "Please..."

The foul stench of his unwashed body overwhelmed her as he leaned closer; she turned her head away both in fear and disgust. Her stomach churned with nausea and she swallowed hard, ignoring the urge to be sick right then and there. Retching on the man's boots wasn't likely to increase her chance of survival.

"It must be very upsetting to know that Uther has abandoned you," he said cruelly, gripping her hand so hard she feared her bones might break beneath the pressure. "It seems no one in the world cares for you."

"I don't know why he doesn't pay. Please, I don't know!"

"Take her to her cell," he commanded shortly.

Gwen nearly sobbed with relief as the guards stepped forward to drag her away, but any hope for respite was quickly smashed to bits when another order reached her ears on her way out of the room.

"Bring Kendrick to me. Perhaps he can tell me why the Lady Morgana has the hands of a serving girl."

The trip back down to the dungeons was a harrowing ordeal, as she quickly realized she could no longer rely upon the scant protection her noble status had offered. The first guard left her with nothing more than a few crude comments and a suggestive leer, but the other, a heavily scarred man with cold, colorless eyes, pinned her against the wall just outside her cell, giving her breast a hard squeeze.

She struggled in vain against his massive chest, crying out in pain and shock as he slid a hand inside her bodice to pinch a tender nipple.

"Don't care whether you're a servant or not," he leaned forward to whisper, his hot, rank breath making her cringe in revulsion. "Got a nice pair of tits on you, girl. Why don't we go in here and you show me what else you're hiding under this fancy dress, eh?"

The man groaned suggestively, and she gasped as she felt something hard pressing into the soft flesh of her stomach. But then she recalled something her brother had once told her. The action might get her killed, but she couldn't stand the thought of being brutally violated without at least attempting to fight back.

"If a boy ever touches you inappropriately, bring your knee up between his legs, Gwen," Elyan had said in a firm, uncompromising voice. "I'm sure I'll be around to run him through myself, but if I'm not for any reason, you need to know how to defend yourself."

At twelve years old, she'd giggled at him for his serious speech.  _How silly! Girls don't need to fight, not when they have such brave, strong fathers and brothers around to protect them._

But now they were both gone, having taken any illusions of safety right along with them. She'd grown into a woman without their support, learning to rely on her own strength to see her through some of the most painful and frightening experiences of her life. Indeed, she would've never survived at all if she'd done nothing but sit around and wait for someone to rescue her.

And so when the guard dipped his head to nuzzle between her breasts, she let loose a fierce cry, slamming her knee into his groin with every bit of force she could muster.

He roared in anguish, releasing her from his clutches as he doubled over and cupped himself between shaking palms. Again and again he groaned, muttering a stream of curses both at her and at the pain itself. She stared at him in disbelief, shocked that she'd had the power to cripple a man who must've been almost twice her size.

"Cursed bitch! Get back here, or I'll..."

Before she knew it, she was fleeing like a scared rabbit, darting in and out of doorways and peering around corners, her heart thudding like a hammer in her chest. A clear route to freedom lay just ahead, but she couldn't leave... not without Lancelot. Pausing to take a deep breath, she turned and headed deeper into the fortress.

 _Where can he be?_  she wondered anxiously, ducking into a dark alcove to avoid a pair of passing guards.

"I will come for you before nightfall."

No, there wasn't time to wait any longer! Hengist knew he'd been deceived; no doubt orders had already been dispatched for her execution. If she were captured, she'd be thrown to those terrible beasts, leaving Lancelot no choice but to listen to her dying screams as she was torn to pieces. He'd be unable to reach her until it was far too late.

But he'd try nonetheless, she realized grimly, recalling the truth she'd recognized in his character on the night he'd ridden out to slay the Griffin. He'd face impossible odds without a second thought rather than leave her to suffer alone. Yes, he'd fight for her... and they'd kill him for his efforts. Slowly... Painfully... 

_I can't allow that to happen. I can't..._

"There she is!"

As a pair of rough hands reached out to grab her, Gwen recognized her mistake. The long train of the unfamiliar silk gown lay outside the alcove where she'd thought herself well hidden, a bright purple banner clearly exposing her whereabouts. She tried to make one last, desperate lunge for freedom, but it was a futile effort.

No longer able to suppress her overwrought emotions, she began to cry as she was dragged back to the dungeons. The guards mocked her for the tears streaming down her face, but she didn't care. What did it matter? Her last chance of escape had come to nothing.

Imprisoned once more in her dismal cell, she sobbed helplessly as she imagined the gruesome death that would soon come to pass. She wept for Lancelot, knowing that despite her best efforts, it was unlikely she'd be able to prevent herself from screaming in agony and alerting him to her peril. More than anything, she cried for the future that would be forever lost to them both.

Her heart grieved for Camelot, for the home and friends she'd never see again. Burying her face in the thick velvet cloak, she inhaled the familiar scent of jasmine soap as she remembered Morgana's gentle teasing, quickly followed by Merlin's cheeky grin, and sweet old Gaius, who'd always treated her like his own daughter. What wouldn't she give to talk to them one last time, for one more chance to tell them how much they'd meant to her?

And then she thought of Arthur, smiling wistfully as she imagined the great king he'd be when his time finally came. It hurt more than words could describe to know she wouldn't live to see that day.

Her distraught weeping grew quieter, soon replaced by a feeling of grim resignation. Exhausted and drained, she curled up on the bed and awaited her fate.

When she heard the sound of keys in the lock just a few minutes later, she braced herself for the inevitable. But it wasn't the leering faces of the guards that greeted her, nor Hengist's cold eyes and menacing glare. It was Lancelot himself who entered the cell, holding out his hand with a smile of triumph on his face. She beamed back at him as she wrapped her fingers tightly around his, warm and strong beneath her touch.

 _How could I have ever doubted him?_  she wondered as they fled up the stairs and burst out into the corridor above.

A guard reached out from an alcove to grab her arm, but before she could even cry out in distress, Lancelot was on him. He drew his sword, delivering a lethal blow with such lightning speed that her eyes weren't even able to follow the motion. She glanced down at the body lying in a puddle of blood at her feet, then looked up at him in awe.

"Are you all right?" he whispered, reaching out to touch her face.

Speechless, she nodded.

And then they were off again, racing through the seemingly endless corridors while Lancelot swiftly dispatched of any stray enemies they encountered along the way. Her muscles soon grew weary from the unaccustomed exertion, but still she pressed onward, clinging fiercely to his hand throughout their desperate flight toward freedom.

Just as they reached what appeared to be a long tunnel, they were overtaken by a trio of guards. She gasped in horror as they wrestled Lancelot to his knees, quite certain he'd be slaughtered right in front of her eyes. But somehow he struggled to his feet; in a matter of seconds, a small heap of bodies lay lifeless beneath his dripping sword.

There were shouts in the distance, followed by the pounding of dozens of pairs of heavy boots. Realizing the alarm had been sounded, she trembled in fear, gripping Lancelot's fingers more tightly as the ominous noises drew ever closer. She tried to lend her tired feet an extra burst of speed, only to gasp in surprise when he stopped her short.

"Follow this tunnel," he told her urgently. "It will lead you out beyond the castle walls. I will buy you as much time as I can."

She stared at him in horror. "I am not leaving you."

"You must."

Her eyes searched his face, recognizing the determined set of his jaw. She'd seen it before – a firm, unyielding resolve that no power on earth, not even her most desperate pleas, could possibly shake. It was the essence of who he was inside, a soul that found its strength in doing what he truly believed to be right, no matter the cost to himself.

"I won't leave you here to die!" she protested, even though she suspected he'd already won the battle of wills between them.

"I would die for you one hundred times over," he murmured, his voice so gentle and sincere that her eyes filled with tears. "Live for me, or everything I am has been for nothing."

It was in that moment she recognized the choice before her, knowing in her heart what she had to do. If she stayed with him, he'd only be forced to defend them both, which would be much more challenging than just fighting for himself. How could she do that to him when his only hope of survival lay in the strength of his sword? He might be giving her a better chance by urging her to go on without him, but wouldn't she be offering the same by submitting to his wishes?

She kissed him then, hungry and yearning, hoping to show him all the things she no longer had time to speak aloud. There was no hesitation, no trace of the shyness she'd struggled with years before. Her lips were bold, tender and passionate, her tongue begging for entrance that was immediately granted.

Lancelot kissed her back with equal fierceness, as if he was attempting to breathe every trace of love he'd ever felt for her straight into her soul. For a few heartbeats, it was as if nothing existed beyond the exquisite feeling of his mouth moving against hers, and all of the desperate emotion that passed silently between them.

But then he broke off with a shuddering sigh as the sounds of their pursuers returned them to the reality of their circumstances. His body trembled beneath her fingertips as she clung to him, both shaken to the core by the power of that one brief kiss.

"As long as I live, my feelings for you will never fade," she whispered.

"Run," he said firmly, the naked longing in his eyes battling with the unyielding determination she'd recognized only a moment before. "Don't stop running until you are well away from here. Run."

She hesitated for a moment, and then she was gone.


	45. Captured

#  **Chapter 45: Captured**

* * *

With the memory of Gwen's sweet kiss fresh in his mind, Lancelot unsheathed his sword and braced himself for the onslaught. It was easy to imagine his racing heart was pounding in time with her running feet, every beat carrying her one step closer to freedom.

When Hengist's men came charging into the tunnel, he cut through them like sheaves of wheat, striking out at one after another with a rapid succession of brutal blows. He showed them no mercy, knowing that every lethal hit he managed to deliver would buy her a few more precious seconds.

Never in his life had he fought with more passion than he did in his valiant attempt to protect the woman he loved. Nothing was more noble, more honorable, more true to the essence of who he was inside than defending her life. With that thought in mind, he met his opponents with a quiet, yet ferocious determination, feeling as if he truly understood himself as he never had before.

That long forgotten quest for knighthood hadn't been the silly dream of a naive young man who didn't understand what it was to live in reality. No, it had been his destiny all along to live and die for others, never for himself. He'd been born to fight injustice wherever it appeared, to strive to create a better world for those who deserved to live in peace and safety.

His entire soul and being had rediscovered its purpose in Gwen. Before he'd gazed into the mirror her presence had held before his eyes, he'd been a stranger to himself, a bitter, hardened man who'd lost his spirit to a meaningless existence. His love for her was the powerful force that had awakened him to his true nature, pushing him to realize his better qualities to their full potential.

Yes, he'd gladly die for Gwen… without her, he'd forgotten what it was to truly  _live_. She was the blood that coursed through his veins, the breath that filled his lungs in ragged gasps as he struggled to hold back the endless stream of attackers that fell upon him. She was the life within him, and for her sake, he found more to give, long after he'd exhausted himself beyond endurance.

Sweat dripped from his aching body, tinged with red as he began to bleed from a dozen lacerations all over his face and arms. But battered and bruised, he only fought harder as his heart continued to pound in rhythm with the phantom echo of her running footsteps.

And then he was overwhelmed, falling to his knees when a heavy club slammed into his midsection. Nonetheless, even the pain did nothing to erase his smile of triumph. He knew he'd managed to buy Gwen enough time to make it through the tunnel and well beyond, far from the clutches of Hengist or his terrible henchmen. Yes, that was all that mattered.

He didn't struggle as he was bound tightly and dragged through the fortress, then flung headlong into the cage to meet his fate. He'd already accepted his own death as inevitable, only fighting to prolong his final moments to make sure she'd had time to escape.

Now she was free. He'd battled for her life, the most precious life he could ever imagine, and he had  _succeeded_. And through this one final act of sheer desperation, he found redemption for all his past failures. He let out a satisfied sigh, letting go of a lifetime of regret that suddenly seemed trivial in comparison with this night's triumph.

"Before you die," Hengist growled in a menacing voice, drawing out his words with relish. "I can promise you the most unimaginable pain."

He nearly laughed as he stared directly into the man's eyes, immune to his intimidating threats. "You can do what you will with me. I do not care. You can do no harm to Guinevere."

"Oh, was that her name? And you really believe she's worth dying for?"

"She's worth more to me than you will ever understand," he responded, pitying any man who knew nothing of life except brutality. How had he ever allowed himself to believe he was one of them? He'd thank Gwen with his dying breath for opening his eyes to the truth.

Hengist signaled to a pair of guards who stood ready beside a dangling rope, and the gate slowly creaked open. Lancelot turned his head, bracing himself for death as he watched for the Wilddeoren that was only seconds away from tearing into his flesh. He'd die bravely and with dignity, he promised himself, no crying out or begging for mercy when he met what was sure to be a painful end.

But instead, his horrified eyes were met by a sight that caused him far greater agony than any Wilddeoren could've inflicted upon him. It was Gwen who was being shoved roughly into the cage, bound at the wrists in the same manner as himself. He shook his head in denial, mouthing a single word as her eyes met his with a stare of hopeless defeat.

_"No."_

"You thought she got away," Hengist's mocking voice intruded, his gleeful expression making it clear how much he was enjoying Lancelot's visible anguish. "No. You failed her. And that must hurt you more than I will ever understand."

He was right, and Lancelot hated him for it.

* * *

Gwen struggled not to cry as she was lashed tightly to Lancelot's back. His solid warmth brought her a small measure of comfort, however, enough that she was able to hold her tears at bay for the time being.

She'd tried to run, pushing her exhausted body to its limits and beyond. Sorrowful but determined, she'd fought against the urge to turn around and rush straight back to his side, forcing her feet to keep moving forward in a desperate attempt to honor the unspoken promise she'd granted him. She'd hesitated only once, stopping dead in her tracks when a cry of pain had reached her ears, before continuing on with even more reluctance than before.

But it seemed that once had been enough to seal her fate. She'd emerged from the tunnel with a gasp of relief… at the very same moment a small group of guards had rounded the corner and spotted her.

If only she'd run a little faster, she never would've been captured. If she hadn't hesitated for those few precious seconds, she could have disappeared into the darkness of the forest that had lain just a few steps away.  _If only..._

"What do you say?" Hengist teased the bloodthirsty crowd with a mischievous gleam in his eye. "Shall I spare them?"

"Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!" they shouted in unison.

Gwen's eyes filled with tears all over again. If it weren't for her, Lancelot wouldn't be facing a slow and terrible death. She should have done  _something_ to prevent this from happening. Perhaps she should've lied when he'd first come to her, coldly turning him away with claims that she didn't want his help and that she was in no danger.

No, she'd been right to tell him the truth, and besides, he wouldn't have believed anything else she could've come up with anyway.

Even though that realization made her feel a tiny bit better, she still couldn't help blaming herself for being caught. Why hadn't she run faster? At the very least, she might've been able to spare him the pain of having to bear her suffering on top of his own. He could have died with the comfort of knowing he'd saved her life, rather than feeling as if he'd failed her. 

"I am sorry," she said tearfully, her voice shaky and distraught. "This is my fault."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he responded gently. "You reminded me of who I am. I will die with faith in my heart. That is worth more than anything."

And then his hands found hers, threading their fingers together with a warm, solid grip. She felt him sigh deeply and straighten his back, knowing he wasn't only trying to brace himself for what was to come, but also offering her his strength.

"Release the Wilddeoren!" Hengist shouted, his harsh voice filled with eager anticipation.

When the terrible creature emerged, the reality was so much more terrifying than she could've ever imagined. It was larger, more menacing as it approached, the jagged teeth protruding from its dripping jaws seeming twice as long as they'd been the first time she'd seen them.

It raised its head and sniffed loudly, immediately detecting their scent.  _The smell of food,_  Gwen realized fearfully as it came closer.

And then all rational thought fled in the face of desperate panic.

* * *

Lancelot kicked ineffectually at the beast, cursing inwardly at his own helplessness as he tried to twist his body so the creature might attack him first. There was no point in shielding Gwen when it was clearly over for them both, but he couldn't help himself. He acted on instinct alone, submitting to reflexes that knew no stronger purpose than the need to shelter her from harm.

She cried out in terror, struggling against the ropes that bound them together as the jaws of death loomed closer and closer, and there was nothing he could do to save her. It was his worst nightmare brought to life – a reality where Gwen was in immediate peril and it was beyond his power to remove the cause of her distress. 

He didn't know how he could bear it… and yet, there was no other choice.

 _Let me die first,_ he pleaded silently. _Please..._

And then in the blink of an eye they were no longer alone in the cage. A sword flashed through the air, slicing through the bonds that held them both captive, and he found himself with a weapon in his hand. He didn't recognize the man at first, but knew him to be a friend when he thrust Gwen safely behind them and struck out at the dreadful Wilddeoren in their defense.

He seemed strangely familiar as Lancelot studied him out of the corner of his eye, a proud, noble looking man who seemed ill-suited to the shabby bandit's clothing he wore. It was only when he spoke aloud that memory came flooding back. 

_Arthur. Arthur Pendragon._

"What are you doing here, Lancelot?"

"I came to save Gwen. What about you?"

"Likewise," Arthur responded briefly.

The Wilddeoren's hide was nearly impenetrable; it barely responded to the blows they rained down upon its back. It would fall easily if one of them could get a clear shot at its belly, but there wasn't time to wait for such an opportunity. The crowd of men who surrounded them were stirred into a fever pitch, roaring for their blood as Hengist approached the cage with a face full of fury.

"The tunnel," Arthur said hastily. "It's our only chance. _Merlin!_ "

 _Merlin's here too?_  

Yes, of course he was. Gwen was his friend, and he would've found a way to help her if she was in danger. He must have enlisted the help of Arthur and his knights somehow, and Lancelot knew from experience how impossible it was to convince him to remain behind.

The realization would have made him smile, were it not for the chaos going on all around them. Hengist and several of his men entered the cage just as Arthur urged them all into the mouth of the tunnel. Lancelot turned with his sword at the ready, preparing to hold back the rush of attackers so the others might have a chance to escape.

"Take Guinevere! I'll hold them off."

"No!" she cried in protest, and he turned to meet her pleading eyes with a determined stare of his own. This was her chance, her  _only_ chance, and he had no intention of allowing her to squander it. He meant to tell her so, then to reassure her yet again of his willingness to die for her, but before he could open his mouth to speak, Arthur was already pulling her away with a command of his own.

"Guinevere, we have to go!"

Just as Lancelot was about to order Merlin to flee with the others, a spell was uttered and the gate came crashing down, effectively cutting them off from any further threat of danger.

The magic… he'd forgotten about the magic.

He didn't turn his eyes from the sight of Hengist as his former captor was brutally torn to pieces by the very same creature he'd used to put an end to countless lives for his own amusement. No, Lancelot's ears practically relished the terrified screams; he'd never been a spiteful man, but it was hard to imagine a death that was more fitting or so richly deserved.

"I see you're still up to your old tricks, Merlin," he said in fond amusement.

"It's probably best you don't tell anyone about that," his old friend replied, though it wasn't necessary. The trust between them hadn't diminished during their separation, which was proven by the fact that Merlin had used magic in front of him in the first place.

 _So it's still a secret then,_ he realized with a trace of sadness. It was a shame that Arthur of all people couldn't know the truth. Merlin had just saved all their lives, and not for the first time either. He deserved a little recognition for his bravery.

But there wasn't time to give the matter any further thought as they were off again, racing once more toward freedom.

"Good to see you both," he said gratefully when they reached the end of the tunnel, pausing to rest as Arthur fiddled with the latch on the gate that led to the world outside. "Where are your knights?"

"It's just us." 

He might've dwelled on that if another thought hadn't swiftly arose to overpower his curiosity.  _He was alive._  They were only a few steps away from safety; he'd live to see another day, along with all the days that followed. Once again, he had a lifetime to look forward to… a lifetime he might be able to share with Gwen.

As soon as they had a chance to talk, he'd tell her he was ready to return to Camelot. He might speak with Arthur first just to be sure there'd be no further issue concerning the king, but it didn't seem likely that a man like Uther would even remember him.

Yes, he'd find himself an honest living, then build a life with her like he should've done in the first place. There was no limit to how much he'd love her, devoting every waking moment to her safety, her comfort, her happiness. It might be a humble life, but she'd want for nothing if it was in his power to provide it.

Lancelot knew the intensity of his feelings was clear on his face as he helped her to her feet, clinging to her hand as she blushed and gave him a joyful smile. And for the span of a few heartbeats, the world seemed to glow with her beauty, radiant with all the love that passed between them.

It was a single moment of absolute perfection… abruptly shattered by the harshness of a reality he hadn't even considered.

Her expression suddenly changed, tenderness replaced by a great deal of discomfort as she pulled her fingers from his grasp and quickly stepped away. His bewildered gaze followed the direction of her eyes, and with a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he recognized the cause of her distress.

Arthur was staring at them both, his features fixed in a rigid mask of betrayal.


	46. Almost Everything

#  **Chapter 46: Almost Everything**

* * *

Gwen scolded herself for her thoughtlessness, resolving to be more discreet about her feelings for Lancelot while in Arthur's presence. Even though she had no reason to feel guilty under the circumstances, she still didn't want to be responsible for upsetting him… especially when he'd gone to so much trouble to rescue them both.

Of course, it was easy to forget that when she began to realize he wasn't going to accept what he'd seen with anything resembling grace or maturity.

Lancelot offered to help Merlin collect firewood when they stopped to make camp, giving her a small smile as they trudged off into the woods together. Left alone with Arthur, she approached him hesitantly, hoping she might be able to resolve the unfortunate misunderstanding between them.

"I wanted to thank you for saving my life."

She'd intentionally not mentioned " _our_  lives" in consideration of his feelings.

He cleared his throat gruffly, striding some distance away before responding. "It's my duty to protect the citizens of this kingdom."

"Yes, but..."

"Your gratitude is appreciated, but not necessary. Now go back to camp and get some rest. We have a long journey ahead of us in the morning, and I can't have you straggling behind."

"Arthur, I wanted to tell you..."

"That is, if you even intend on returning with us at all," he continued as if he hadn't heard her.

She frowned in confusion. "Camelot is my home. Why would I  _not_  return?"

"I can't pretend to know what you want, Guinevere. I thought I did, but... well, nevermind. Go back to camp. It's probably best if we're not seen talking alone like this."

The sarcasm in his voice was suddenly infuriating. Why was he behaving as if she'd betrayed him? He'd kissed her _once_ , yes, but she'd never  _asked_  him to do that, had she? And afterwards, what had he told her? He'd made it clear that a romance between them would be impossible, even if she'd  _wanted_ to be with him.

So why was he treating her this way? She'd made no promises to him, had she? Why should she be made to feel as if she'd done something wrong? Because he gazed at her longingly from a distance sometimes? Because he'd saved their lives? Neither of those things gave him any right to make a claim on her feelings.

No matter. She was utterly drained from her recent ordeal, lacking the patience to stand there and tolerate his rudeness while he continued to dodge the real issue.

"Arthur, I'm very sorry if I misled you," she said, struggling to keep her voice gentle and compassionate. "Please know that was never my intention. Lancelot and I..."

"I don't know why you're telling me this," he interrupted, suddenly fixated on peeling the bark from a nearby tree. "You know as well as I do that I could never become involved with a... a  _servant_. Maybe  _I'm_  the one who has given  _you_ the wrong impression, Guinevere, if I've led you to believe your personal life is of any interest to me. Now go back to camp and rest."

"Arthur..."

"That wasn't a request, Guinevere. Go."

She sighed helplessly and went, deciding that if acting like a child was the only way he knew how to deal with his feelings, then so be it. She settled herself right next to Lancelot, deciding he'd just have to get used to the idea whether he liked it or not.

The camp was awkwardly silent as Merlin served them all a bit of bread and hard cheese that he'd retrieved from the saddlebags. Arthur refused the food, but Gwen barely noticed as she devoured hers gratefully, relishing the first decent meal she'd had since leaving Camelot.

When she met Arthur's eyes again, he was still scowling at her. Lancelot and Merlin fidgeted awkwardly, struggling to focus their attention elsewhere in response to the tension, and their discomfort made her furious.  _Typical,_  she thought irritably, as she glared back at him with eyes full of resentment.  _As always, he's completely blind to the needs and feelings of anyone other than himself._

It was Lancelot who finally spoke, bringing an end to the heavy, unbearable silence.

"I'm surprised you would undertake such a rescue mission with just the two of you," he remarked, his voice full of curiosity.

Arthur shifted uncomfortably. "My father would not risk the lives of his knights for a servant."

"And yet you disobeyed him and came here anyway," Lancelot replied, clearly seeking information in the most straightforward manner his polite nature would allow. He wanted answers, Gwen knew, suddenly realizing that he was far too perceptive  _not_ to be suspicious of Arthur's motives.

"Truth is, I only came because Morgana begged me," Arthur responded carelessly.

Gwen felt as if she'd been slapped. It was humiliating, but more than that, it was hurtful. Despite her feelings for Lancelot, she'd truly believed she and Arthur were friends, especially after she'd allowed him to stay in her home. She didn't deserve to be treated as if her life was worthless to him, just so he might save face in front of others.

"I think I'll get some rest," she said abruptly, desperately wanting to put an end to the unpleasant conversation.

"We should all get some rest," Arthur agreed in a gruff voice.

* * *

"I'll stand guard for a while," Lancelot commented to no one in particular, as he turned and walked a short distance from the camp.

So tired he could barely think straight, he settled himself on the ground and leaned his head against the tree at his back. He tried to fight his weariness, fearing that if he closed his eyes, he'd only remember Arthur's awful look of betrayal, followed by the guilt and shame he'd seen on Gwen's face in response to that pain.

He wanted to believe he'd misinterpreted the signs, wishing he could take Arthur at his word that he'd only come as a favor to a friend, nothing more. But what reason could he have possibly had for staring at Gwen as if she'd broken his heart, unless there was something between them? And what did she feel for him in return?

His exhausted brain was a mess of conflicting emotions that only seemed to become more tangled as he struggled to sort them out. Wearily, he shook his head in defeat as he stretched out on the ground, deciding it might be best to allow himself to rest after all, if only for a moment...

* * *

Lancelot was awoken a few hours later as Gwen settled herself beside him, hardly remembering how to breathe when she rested her head on his shoulder with a soft sigh of contentment. His body reacted instinctively, leaving no room for conscious thought as he reached out and pulled her into his arms.

"Gwen..." he murmured in surprise, just before his lips found hers in the darkness.

He'd kissed her twice before, but only on the brink of some mortal peril that had demanded a great deal of urgency. These kisses were something else entirely, for it was the first chance they'd ever had to take their time and simply enjoy one another.

He rose up on one elbow as she stretched out beneath him, kissing her with a tenderness that made her sigh with pleasure as she tangled her fingers in his hair. Resisting the temptation of her open, inviting mouth, his lips teased hers ever so lightly, until she finally grew impatient and pulled his head down rather insistently to encourage a deeper kiss.

With a soft chuckle, he gladly submitted to her demands, loving her eagerness as she whimpered and pressed herself more firmly against his body in response.

He ravished her mouth urgently, hungrily, before pulling away with a shuddering sigh to rain kisses across her jaw, then down the soft column of her throat. She murmured in encouragement, tilting her head to the side to give him easier access as he brushed her dark curls aside and traced the sensitive contours of her ear with the tip of his tongue.

"Lancelot?" she whispered, her voice coming out husky and uneven.

"Mmm?"

"C-could you...?" she trailed off uncertainly, and the hesitation in her voice stopped him short. He pulled back to look at her face in sudden concern. Had he gone too far?

"Tell me," he murmured, ready to put aside his swiftly growing need if necessary. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No!" she exclaimed, followed by a self-conscious laugh. "No, I was just going to ask if you could remove your armor. It's a little uncomfortable."

Relieved, he smiled down at her as he sat up and unbuckled his belt, then took off the heavy mail shirt and tossed it aside. He meant to leave the rest of his clothing intact, but instantly changed his mind when a soft hand slid beneath his shirt to caress his bare back. There was something that sounded suspiciously like a giggle as he struggled free of the garment, immediately forgotten when she blushed as the sight of his bare chest was revealed to her.

When he stretched out beside her again, he held himself in check as she explored his body, curiosity swiftly overcoming her shyness as her fingers played in his chest hair, then drifted lower to skim across the flat planes of his stomach. Finally, when he could bear it no longer, he captured her hand and pressed it against his swiftly beating heart, kissing her fiercely as his body trembled with need.

There was  _something_ inside him that voiced a protest; some feeble, distant reminder as to why he should not allow this to go any further. It whispered to him when he slid his hand down to cup one of her sweetly rounded breasts, but he banished it from his mind. Unless Gwen herself asked him to stop, he found it impossible to think of any reason why he should.

She was so beautiful as she lay there beside him, biting her lip to suppress her soft moans of pleasure as she gazed at him with heavy lidded eyes. And in that moment, nothing seemed more right than being with the woman he loved, body and soul.

He slipped his hand inside the bodice of her gown, carefully watching her face for any sign of discomfort as he did so. Instead of offering any objection, however, she only sat up and gestured to the knotted ribbons at her back, peeking at him over one shoulder with a shy smile.

Rising to kneel behind her, he freed the ties with shaking fingers, easing the purple silk from her shoulders as he rained kisses down upon her soft skin. She turned in his arms, her cheeks flushing crimson as she hesitated, then dropped her arms and let the gown fall to her waist.

For a dazed moment, Lancelot could only stare at the impossibly lovely sight of Gwen's bare breasts. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again, shaking his head as he found himself without the words to sufficiently compliment her beauty. She seemed to understand his meaning nonetheless, ducking her head with a knowing smile.

He eased her gently to the ground, his lips briefly meeting hers before drifting lower to close around a taut nipple. Gwen whimpered helplessly, burying her fingers in his hair as he lavished her breasts, then trailed his lips across the soft contours of her belly before returning to her mouth for another deep, hungry kiss.

"Don't let me interrupt," intruded a sarcastic voice, and reality came crashing down.

* * *

Gwen sat up abruptly, hastily pulling her gown up to cover her exposed breasts while she remained shielded from view by Lancelot's larger body. Tying her sash in a clumsy knot at her back, she rose to her feet and glared at Arthur.

He was standing some distance away, far enough that he probably hadn't been able to make out very much in the darkness. She felt her initial embarrassment fading away, replaced by irritation. If he truly hadn't meant to interrupt, then why had he felt the need to announce his presence instead of just leaving them undisturbed?

 _Because he's Arthur_.

"I awoke to find you gone, Guinevere," he said stiffly. "I wanted to make sure you were safe, but I can see now that you're well taken care of. It seems obvious that my presence is not needed here."

And without another word, he turned and stalked away.

Gwen turned back to Lancelot, dismayed to find him staring at Arthur's retreating back with a sick expression on his face. She knelt beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder, blinking in confusion when he cringed away from her touch. Surely he wouldn't believe Arthur's jealousy meant she was involved with him, would he?

"Lancelot," she started a little awkwardly. "Please don't think that..."

He raised a hand, effectively cutting her off. "You don't have to explain yourself to me."

"But..."

"It's all right, Gwen," he interrupted gently. "This isn't the time for talking about things that aren't important. There's a long journey ahead in just a few hours, and you've been through a lot these past couple days. Please, sleep while you can."

She looked at him uncertainly. "Can we talk about it tomorrow?"

He swallowed hard, hesitating before he responded. "Tomorrow, you'll know my feelings."

The response sounded a little strange, but as she studied his face, she could see the exhaustion in his eyes and the weary droop of his shoulders.  _He's just tired,_  she reassured herself.  _We're all tired. I should leave him to his rest. Everything will be fine when we've all had time to recover. Perhaps even Arthur will be a little more reasonable._

She bid him good night, then slowly made her way back to camp. Merlin was awake when she returned, stirring the dying embers of the fire with a curiously melancholy look upon his face. She wanted to ask if he was all right, but she was just too drained to speak to anyone else.

Instead, she gave him what she hoped was a comforting smile, then curled up and drifted off to sleep.


	47. The Leavetaking

#  **Chapter 47: The Leavetaking**

* * *

Lancelot stood alone in the darkness, struggling with his conflicting emotions as he tried to accept what he knew in his heart to be the truth.

At first, he hadn't wanted to believe it when he'd noticed the tension between Arthur and Gwen. Then he'd been so exhausted that his mind had been unable to grasp the enormity of the dilemma looming before him, and so he'd cast it aside.

And then she'd come to him like a dream, rousing him from slumber with her sweet, soft body and eager kisses. He'd hardly been conscious enough to remember his name at first, and by the time he'd fully awakened, he'd been too lost in the moment to think of anything beyond how amazing she'd felt and how much he'd wanted to be with her.

 _If Arthur hadn't interrupted..._ Part of him insisted he would've put a stop to what had almost happened, but he was only lying to himself. Given the opportunity, he would've taken her right then and there, with no other thought beyond how desperately he loved her… how much his body had ached to bring satisfaction to them both.

Forgetting everything else had been effortless when she'd been near, and that was what frightened him the most. If his desire could so easily rise to overpower any thought as to what might be best for  _her_ , how could he trust himself at all?

There was no denying Arthur had strong feelings for Gwen, but judging by the shame, guilt, and discomfort he'd seen on her face, she was conflicted on the matter. What left Lancelot bewildered was why she'd even  _consider_ choosing him over a man like Arthur. Was it that she assumed a future wouldn't be possible with someone of royal status, deciding it would be best to settle for a man who was within her reach?

Perhaps she was afraid that loving a prince would only end in heartbreak, but Lancelot knew better. Arthur was a noble man; it was impossible to imagine him becoming involved with Gwen unless his intentions were honorable. Maybe Uther would frown on it, but when  _Arthur_  became king, who would there be to stop him from changing the laws and marrying exactly who he chose?

 _Gwen could be Queen of Camelot,_ he suddenly realized in amazement.

And if Arthur  _did_ make her his queen, she'd have access to luxuries that Lancelot would never be able to give her – wealth and privilege, security and comfort, the protection of an entire army at her disposal. She'd have  _everything_  at her fingertips, a life filled with all the things she so richly deserved. How could he interfere with her chance to be with someone who could give her that... so much more than a man like himself could ever dream of?

 _Because I want her for myself,_ a tiny voice inside him whispered, unwilling to surrender just yet. _Because she's the only woman I'll ever love, and I can't bear the thought of her being with anyone else, even if he_ _**is**_ _the better choice._

He went back and forth for a time, until finally admitting to himself that he was trying to find reasons to justify staying where they didn't exist.

How could he stay here and force her to choose between them, especially if she didn't even realize what might be possible with Arthur someday? 

And yet, what if he was wrong? What if it was Lancelot she loved, in a way that had nothing to do with feeling that her chances were better with him than with Arthur? What if she didn't care about a grander life, becoming queen, or all the rest of it? Shouldn't he talk with her and make sure that  _wasn't_  the case before making any permanent decisions?

 _You're only deluding yourself,_  he told himself harshly.  _Why would she want...?_ No. It would be selfish to make this harder on anyone than it had to be. He'd seen what had passed between them with his own eyes; now he needed to be strong for her sake and give them the chance they both deserved. 

The sky was beginning to lighten when Merlin came to sit at his side, and suddenly, he had to speak the question aloud. It didn't matter that he already knew the truth. He needed confirmation, just to be absolutely sure he'd no longer be plagued by lingering doubts. Otherwise, he didn't know if he'd be able to find the strength to leave.

"Is it true that Arthur came to rescue Gwen because Morgana begged him?"

Merlin said nothing, just looked at him sadly in response.

Lancelot let out a heavy sigh, fighting to suppress the pain as his last, faint hope dissolved into nothing. He'd expected no less, but seeing it reflected back at him made it real. He swallowed hard. "He has feelings for her, doesn't he?"

"What about you? Do you have feelings for Gwen?"

"My feelings do not matter. I will not come between them."

Realization dawned in Merlin's eyes, understanding what he intended to do. A small part of him couldn't help hoping his friend would offer some kind of protest, tell him he was wrong or perhaps suggest a less painful alternative. It probably wouldn't change anything, but he longed for something,  _anything_  to delay the awful finality of his decision.

But Merlin said nothing, only gazed back at him with a face full of sympathy and regret.

"Tell Gwen..." Lancelot started, then paused as he struggled to put voice to the most painful words he'd ever had to utter aloud. "Tell Gwen she has changed me forever, but some things cannot be."

For a while, they lingered in melancholy silence, until Merlin finally spoke again. "Where will you go?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does to me. I'm your friend, and I care about what happens to you. Just because..." Merlin paused to gesture vaguely at Gwen's sleeping figure in the distance. "Well, you shouldn't forget everyone else, leave them to wonder whether you're all right, or if you're even alive at all."

The pain in his eyes made Lancelot feel worse than he already did, if such a thing was even possible. He suddenly recognized how much his friend had been affected by his long years of silence and was overcome by regret... until he realized that this, at least, was a situation where he might be able to make amends for his mistakes.

"I'm sorry, Merlin," he said sincerely. "You're right. I should have sent word to you after I left Camelot. Believe me, I thought about it many times. It's just... I was ashamed at how far I'd allowed myself to fall, and I didn't think anyone would want to..."

He trailed off when the other man let out an impatient snort. "Lancelot, don't you understand that a true friend cares about you no matter what? You have nothing to prove to me."

"What I was doing before I came here..."

"Doesn't matter," Merlin cut him off. He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but their conversation was interrupted as Arthur stirred, then rose to stumble into the woods on the other side of the camp, most likely to answer a call of nature.

"I should be on my way. But I-I'll send word as soon as I can. You have my promise. Just... look after her, will you? For my sake."

"Of course I will."

The two friends parted with a great deal of reluctance, as there was no telling when, or even  _if_ , they might see each other again. As they shared a quick embrace, Lancelot suddenly wished they'd had more time to talk before his necessary departure. He wished for a lot of things... most of all, that he  _hadn't_  chosen to turn back for one final glance at the small, sleeping figure in the distance.

He saw her lying there, beautiful, innocent, and vulnerable in her slumber, and for the briefest instant, he changed his mind. Suddenly, all his firm resolution was overshadowed by the intensity of tender emotions that pleaded with him to stay right there and protect her for the rest of his life, no matter the cost. He took one step closer, and then another...

But when he closed his eyes, his mind conjured up an awful vision of her being lashed to his body to face an agonizing death while he'd been utterly powerless to raise a hand in her defense. He saw Arthur arising like a hero to offer salvation to them both, remembering with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that without him, she'd be dead. Not Lancelot...  _Arthur_.

And so with feet that felt as heavy as lead, he turned and walked away.

* * *

Gwen knew the truth from the moment she opened her eyes, though she fought desperately to ignore the empty feeling all around her as she spoke to Merlin in a falsely cheerful voice.

"Where's Lancelot?"

When he didn't respond right away, her eyes filled with tears. "Where is he?"

"He's gone."

She whispered a useless denial as she struggled for composure, too bewildered by shock and pain to even begin to process anything beyond the simple fact that he was no longer there. After all that had passed between them, he'd left her without even saying goodbye.

"He said that some things can't be," Merlin told her gently. "He wanted you to know that you've changed him forever."

Gwen nodded reluctantly. Yes, that definitely sounded like one of the senseless, noble explanations Lancelot would give to justify something that didn't make any sense at all. It was just like before, when he'd felt the need to leave Camelot to prove his worth and had gone on and on in his letter about not wanting to hold her back, how he wasn't enough just as he was, and all that other nonsense he'd seemed to believe about himself.

 _Is that what this is?_  she wondered sadly, fighting to bring her weeping under control.  _Has he decided yet again that he's unworthy of me, without bothering to consider how I might feel about it?_

 _No,_  she realized a few hours later, as she rode in grim silence beside Arthur on the journey home.  _No, that isn't it. He intended to stay with me. I_ _**know**_ _he did. So what could have possibly changed his mind?_

Was it Arthur? Had they gotten into some sort of a confrontation while she'd been asleep? Had Lancelot been forbidden from returning to Camelot?

She studied the proud, noble lines of Arthur's profile out of the corner of her eye, then shook her head, ashamed the thought had even crossed her mind. He might've behaved rudely the previous day, and perhaps he could be a little childish at times, but he wasn't a cruel man. He would have never treated Lancelot so unjustly.

The more she tried to figure it out, the more confused she seemed to become. Still drained from her captivity and overwhelmed by grief, regardless of the reason for it, she eventually gave in to numb exhaustion and put it from her mind for the time being.

Her spirits were lifted somewhat as the familiar towers of the Citadel finally became visible in the distance. It might be a bittersweet homecoming, but she was home all the same.

* * *

After Morgana had welcomed Gwen with a warm, comforting hug, she made it clear how worried she'd been as she sought to take care of her in every way she could possibly think of. First, she'd summoned Gaius, despite Gwen's insistence that she wasn't injured, merely tired, and would be fine after she'd had some rest.

Gaius confirmed that exhaustion was her only affliction, but glanced at her suspiciously as she looked at him with dull, lifeless eyes. "Is there anything you want to tell me, Gwen?" he said under his breath when Morgana's back was turned. "I know it's embarrassing, but you can trust me. If your captors injured you in any other way..."

Realizing what he was alluding to, she hastily shook her head. There was nothing wrong with her beyond a broken heart, and she knew very well there was nothing Gaius could do about that.

After that, Morgana invited Gwen to her chamber, where she was surprised to find a hot bath waiting for her. It was a curious thing to have Morgana behaving almost as if  _she_ were the servant, helping Gwen wash her hair and dress in another one of her fancy gowns. Gwen appreciated the efforts, but all she really wanted to do was put on her normal clothes, then go home and sleep in her own bed.

A few hours later, she meandered slowly through the streets of Camelot, losing her way twice before she finally made it home. Alone at long last, she allowed herself to break down, sobbing brokenly into her pillow for what seemed like hours before surrendering to the deep, exhausted sleep her body craved.

_Tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow, I'll understand._


	48. Aftermath

#  **Chapter 48: Aftermath**

* * *

Gwen hardly left her bed for nearly four days.

After her exhausted body had fully recovered, she awoke to find herself staring listlessly at the wall, unable to imagine any reason why she should bother to rise and dress. The only obligation she could remember was her service to Morgana, who'd already insisted she take several days to rest before returning to work. In the meantime, what else required her to even  _pretend_  to function?

Nothing.

She curled up in a ball and stayed that way for hours, gazing out the window with grief stricken eyes that never noticed the sun as it rose in the sky, then gradually made its descent to cast the room in darkness again. Her ears didn't register the hum of city life right outside her door, a familiar cadence that might have been comforting if she'd had the ability to hear it.

No, she was aware of nothing beyond a hollow ache that felt as if it were sucking the life out of her. Dry eyed and silent, she struggled to suppress her devastated emotions, determined to bury them so deep that she wouldn't have to feel anything at all. Numbness was the only sensation that offered some sort of relief; she sought it hungrily, willing to do whatever it took to avoid facing the reality of her broken heart.

It wasn't until the third night that something of her former self began to surface, unwilling to accept the dull, wordless escape any longer. A lifetime of belief broke through the void, reminding her that running away from problems never solved anything, and that even the most difficult situations must be faced with honesty and courage.

And then there in the darkness, she whispered a single question that filled the empty room like a shout.

"Why?"

Why did he leave her? Why didn't he say goodbye? Why wasn't she given some kind of explanation? Why couldn't he have at least tried to make her understand? 

_I thought he loved me... no, I_ _**know**_ _he did. Why would he just abandon me as if I meant_ _**nothing**_ _to him?_

At that thought, she burst into tears, her chest heaving with frantic sobs as she searched her mind for answers that might provide some small comfort in her despair. Perhaps they wouldn't be the  _right_  answers – Lancelot had robbed her of that certainty by not telling her the truth himself. But she needed something, _anything_ to help her understand why it had all gone so terribly wrong.

As painful as it was, she forced herself to examine every detail of the time they'd spent together. Her heart ached as she remembered the love they'd rediscovered while she'd been a captive, followed by Lancelot's impassioned words and desperate attempts to free her. Then she thought about the bliss they'd shared in each other's arms on that final night, even more bewildered than she'd been when she'd started. 

It had all felt so  _right_...

 _Maybe the tension between me and Arthur was to blame?_ she considered briefly, recalling Lancelot's pointed questions and visible discomfort. 

But how could  _that_ have been the reason? She'd sought him out later that evening and he'd welcomed her eagerly, responding with tenderness and obvious desire. There hadn't been a trace of uncertainty in the way he'd touched her there in the darkness, no mistaking the love she'd felt in his kisses. And if Arthur hadn't interrupted...

Suddenly, she  _knew_.

With a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, she realized it had been that awkward intrusion that had changed everything. Lancelot must have come to the conclusion that there really was something going on between them. Yes, he must've been only a little suspicious earlier that night, and then something she or Arthur had done had confirmed it in his mind. 

How had her reactions appeared through Lancelot's eyes rather than her own? Her hasty attempts to cover herself, which had been nothing more than natural modesty... had that seemed to  _him_  like she was trying to hide her unfaithfulness? And when Arthur had commented bitterly upon finding her in another man's arms... had the words come to Lancelot's ears as those of a betrayed lover rather than the product of unrequited feelings she'd known them to be?

 _Yes, that_ _**has**_ _to be it,_  she told herself, becoming even more certain as she remembered the expression on his face as he'd watched Arthur storm away. She didn't want to believe it, but what other explanation could there be? After all the intimacy that had passed between them only minutes  _before_  Arthur's interruption, Lancelot had flinched away from her in the aftermath as if her touch had suddenly been too painful to bear.

And then he'd stopped her before she'd had the chance to reassure him of her feelings for him. She'd convinced herself he'd merely been tired at the time, but what had been the  _real_  reason behind his reluctance to hear her out?

"You don't have to explain yourself to me."

He must have suspected the worst if he'd been so insistent on not allowing her to speak at all. For if he'd had even the smallest hope that she might tell him that  _he_  was the one she loved, not Arthur, wouldn't he have taken the risk and listened?

"This isn't the time for talking about things that aren't important."

Not important because he'd thought she meant to reject him anyway? No, that didn't make any sense either. How could he have possibly doubted her feelings after everything they'd been through together? Lancelot might be humble by nature, but he wasn't blind. He had to have known how much she'd wanted to be with him. Hadn't she made that clear all along?

Suddenly, it occurred to her that if he'd believed she felt something for Arthur, perhaps it hadn't mattered  _who_ she might have chosen in the end. He'd never struck her as the jealous type, but then again, he _did_  have a strong sense of honor and loyalty. Maybe he'd felt as if she'd betrayed him, something that had hurt him so deeply he hadn't wanted to discuss it further.

As she considered that possibility, Gwen knew with a sinking heart that it had to be the truth. 

Lancelot was no coward. If there had been even the smallest chance from his perspective, he would have listened to her. She was certain of that. The fact that he'd refused must have meant he'd already decided it was over. And she knew him – when his mind was made up, there was no turning back.

"Tomorrow, you'll know my feelings."

_That was his goodbye. He looked me right in the eye and told me everything I needed to know, even if I didn't realize it at the time._

"Some things can't be."

Yes, that had to be it. He'd assumed she'd betrayed him with Arthur, deciding to close the door on her forever without even allowing her to have a say in the matter. Perhaps to him, she hadn't even deserved that right.

Even as the realization threatened to crush her beneath its tremendous weight, it drove the life back into her listless body. All the emotions she'd held back suddenly boiled up inside her – fury, betrayal, disappointment, and grief. The onslaught was overwhelming, but there was also a strange sort of relief in it. At least she finally understood what she was feeling, and while no less painful, solid reactions were far easier to endure than the hollow bewilderment she'd been left to struggle with before.

She was surprised by how weak her body felt when she rose from the bed, until she remembered she'd had nothing to eat in nearly four days. It was disturbing to realize she'd been so lost to her heartbreak that she hadn't even been able to feel her own hunger up until that moment. She made her way to the kitchen on shaky legs, grateful she'd at least had the presence of mind to drink a little water each day.

Most of her small supply of food was already spoiled, but she managed to find a handful of vegetables that were in decent shape. Working carefully so that her trembling hands wouldn't result in a nasty cut, she peeled them one by one, then set them to boil in a small copper kettle.

It didn't matter that the food was unseasoned or only half cooked when she sat down at the table to eat. She felt better almost instantly as she devoured the pitiful meal.

When she awoke the following morning, she had the energy to clean out her cupboards, then to dress and venture outside long enough to retrieve fresh water and supplies before returning to her bed. The day after that, she scrubbed the house from top to bottom, washed her clothes and linens, and didn't lie down at all until late in the evening when her exhausted body finally demanded rest.

The next day, she returned to work at the palace.

Resuming her duties was the easy part, despite Morgana's admonishments that she mustn't push herself too hard. There was a great deal of solace to be found in keeping herself as active as possible – scouring floors, mending dresses, and preparing baths. Her chores gave her a welcome outlet for her pain, a physical release that couldn't be any different than a knight beating a training dummy in order to vent frustrations he couldn't speak aloud.

Part of her desperately wanted to confess the truth, especially when she caught Morgana staring at her with eyes full of worried compassion. Sometimes she had to swallow hard, forcing herself to resist the urge to lay her head on the comforting shoulder she knew so well and cry until she had no tears left to shed. It would be such a relief to pour out the whole sad tale to a sympathetic ear.

But she couldn't allow herself to do it. How would it be possible to explain what had  _really_  happened without also revealing Arthur's feelings for her? No, that part of it had to remain a secret, and so the rest would as well.

Morgana pressed her to talk at first, gently probing with questions about her captivity and what type of ill-treatment she might have been subjected to. But she eventually gave up when Gwen remained stubbornly aloof, leaving her alone with a final plea to seek her out when she was ready.

With a great deal of sadness, Gwen knew her secrets were creating a distance between them that had never existed in the past. And then came the realization that Lancelot's choice had not only broken her heart, but had also changed her life forever. People she truly cared about – Morgana, Arthur, and perhaps even Merlin... those relationships would never be quite the same.

Night after night, she lay in bed with tears streaming down her cheeks, struggling to reconcile all the wildly conflicting emotions she fought so hard to suppress during the day. Sometimes she wept simply because she still loved Lancelot, no matter what he'd done to hurt her. Other nights, it was pure, helpless rage that had her sobbing into her pillows, railing at him for punishing her so severely over a betrayal she'd never even committed in the first place.

There were times when she even hated herself for not insisting on telling him how she felt, whether he'd tried to prevent her from speaking or not. Then her fury would be directed at him all over again, because she shouldn't have  _had_  to force the issue. He should've given her the benefit of the doubt and  _asked_ her for the truth rather than deciding to leave based on mere suspicion.

If he'd loved her so much, how could he have walked away without being absolutely certain of the truth? Why had he made such a devastating choice based on nothing more than assumptions?

That was the part she would never understand.

* * *

Late one night, she was startled from her dismal thoughts by a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" she asked cautiously, wrapping a shawl around herself while she attempted to wipe any trace of weeping from her face. "Who's there?"

"Merlin," came a muffled, familiar voice. "Can I come in?"

She hastily lifted the latch and let him inside, attempting a casual smile as she hurried around the room lighting candles and gathering the dishes she'd been too tired to clear away earlier that evening. 

"What brings you here so late, Merlin?" she asked in what she hoped was a cheerful voice. "Can I get you anything? Something to eat, maybe?"

"Gwen, stop."

Realizing she had little choice in the matter, at least not without being rude, she reluctantly turned around.

"You've been crying," he said softly, peering down at her face with concerned blue eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing! I just... I had a bad dream, that's all. Nothing to worry about."

"I  _am_  worried," he responded, speaking in a voice that was both gentle and exasperated. "That's why I'm here. I've been hoping to catch you during the day and find some time to talk, but Arthur's been keeping me so busy that I haven't had a chance. He's been a foul mood lately, because... well, nevermind. I shouldn't have said that..."

"I told you, Merlin, it's nothing," she said a little more firmly. "And if Arthur's been working you so hard, shouldn't you be in bed right now? You do look tired and..."

He interrupted her with an impatient snort. "Give it up, Gwen. I know exactly what you're trying to do, but I'm not leaving here until you tell me the truth."

She stared at him for a long moment, trying to come up with an explanation he might actually believe. "It's just taking me some time to get over being abducted, that's all," she finally offered. "I was afraid for my life, Merlin. And those awful creatures..."

"It's Lancelot, isn't it?"

The sympathetic tone in his voice, combined with the pain of hearing Lancelot's name spoken aloud for the first time since her return was too much for Gwen to bear. She began to cry, then sobbed harder as she was pulled into an awkward embrace.

"I-I j-just d-don't..." she started, then took a deep breath in an effort to regain control. "I don't understand h-how he could've done it. Because he thought me and A...?" She stopped herself, reluctant to say anything where Arthur's feelings were concerned, even to the man who knew him better than anyone else in the world. "It just doesn't make any sense."

She felt Merlin's chest rise and fall in a heavy sigh.

"Lancelot only makes choices he truly believes are right. You know that better than anyone, Gwen. Whatever he did, he must've felt in his heart that it was for the best."

"And what about the rest of us? He follows his own conscience, and we're just supposed to accept it if we're hurt in the process? How is that fair, Merlin? How is  _that_ the right thing to do?"

"I... I can't answer that, Gwen. But I know Lancelot never meant to hurt you. All he's ever wanted was for you to be happy."

Abruptly, she pulled out of his arms, staring up at him with eyes full of resentment. "If that's true, he has an odd way of showing it!"

"Gwen…"

"I'm sorry, I just... what he did really hurt me. It _still_ hurts. Sometimes I'm afraid it's never going to stop."

He gave her shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. "You don't need to apologize, Gwen. I understand. But trust me, you won't always feel this way. In time, you might even agree it's for the best."

Reluctantly, she nodded, too weary and heartsore to offer any further protest. "Maybe you're right. In the meantime, we should both get some sleep."

He gave her a tired smile in response. "That sounds like a good idea. If you're sure you'll be okay, I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'll be fine," she said in the most reassuring tone she could muster. "Sleep well, Merlin."

"Goodnight, Gwen."

As she crawled back into bed and surrendered to her exhaustion, it was the first time in weeks that she didn't cry herself to sleep. Merlin's visit hadn't healed her broken heart, but at least she felt a little less alone.


	49. The Kindness of Strangers

#  **Chapter 49: The Kindness of Strangers**

* * *

Lancelot didn't make it far on that first day. He'd gone no more than a quarter of a mile before his strength gave out, bringing him to his knees with a soft groan of defeat. It was a useless effort; no matter how hard he struggled to put one foot in front of the other, he just couldn't bring himself to walk away from her.

And yet, he could not stay.

Leaning against the trunk of an ancient oak, he stared dully at the canopy of leaves above his head as he waited to hear sounds of departure in the distance. Letting Gwen and the others do the leaving was the best he could manage; he simply didn't have the will to step forward into the bleak emptiness that lay ahead... not while he could still feel her within his reach.

So close; when he shut his eyes, he remembered how beautiful she'd looked as he'd held her in his arms, her body melding against his so perfectly that it had seemed as if she'd been designed by the fates to be there. The memory of her lips, sweetly eager as they'd sought his kisses was maddening, setting his body to aching with an unsatisfied need that was stronger than any craving he'd ever known.

Lancelot had always been in love with Gwen, right from the first moment he'd laid eyes on the shy, smiling girl in the yellow dress. But now, it had become something so much more. He _needed_ her.

That was the change that had happened when he'd found her again, a feeling that had only grown stronger when she'd healed his heart and restored his faith in himself with nothing more than a few gentle words.

He needed her like the air that filled his lungs, the food that gave him strength, and the water that quenched his thirst. During his years of solitude, she'd been like a dream to him, a comforting ideal that had brought him solace in times of loneliness and despair. But when that dream had turned into reality, she'd somehow become part of his soul, as vital to his existence as the heart beating in his chest and the blood pumping through his veins.

And upon that realization, he was certain that losing her would be the death of him.

His muscles tensed, thrumming with restless energy, as a single thought repeated itself over and over in his mind. _It's not too late_ , the voice inside him whispered. _Not yet. You can still put a stop to this_.

He clenched his fists and didn't move.

The minutes passed with an agonizing slowness, but just as it seemed as if the heavy, foreboding silence might go on forever, a horse's whinny echoed through the trees. And then his stomach twisted in knots as he felt the faint patter of hooves vibrating the ground beneath his body.

Unbidden, a desperate cry rose in his throat and lingered there, despite his valiant attempts to stifle both the thought and the sound. One word... a _single_ word, and he could put an end to the awful feeling of severing that already ached with such fierce intensity that he could hardly breathe through the pain.

 _One_ word, shouted into the quiet forest, and they'd still be able to hear his call. They'd stop, and feet that felt as heavy as anvils would transform into the feathers of a bird, as if the gentle breeze itself was a benevolent force that merely waited for just such an opportunity to guide him back to the place where he belonged.

But when the word came, it emerged as nothing more than a shaky whisper.

"Wait."

And then they were gone.

Lancelot would never know how many hours he sat there in the aftermath, broken and heartsick. All he'd remember was the terrible, hollow stillness that had surrounded him, an impenetrable void that allowed no awareness of any sensation beyond his own misery.

The sun was low in the sky when he finally rose to his feet and walked back to the deserted campsite, only recognizable now by the distinctive pattern of exposed tree roots he'd noticed on the ground the night before. He didn't know what he'd been hoping to find, other than something tangible – a scrap of purple silk, perhaps a few tendrils of hair, anything he might still be able to touch that had once been part of her.

Unfortunately, Arthur was far too skilled at camouflaging any sign of his passage from potential enemies. He'd left nothing in their wake, not so much as a single footprint or a bit of charred wood from the campfire that had burned so cheerily the night before.

The stinging bite of late autumn crept into the air as the sun settled beneath the horizon, casting the forest into black silence. Lancelot lay shivering on the cold, hard ground, lacking the will to rise and build a fire for warmth and comfort. It would've been a useless effort anyway, he realized, when the first ominous roll of thunder sounded in the distance.

When the rain came, a frigid, merciless downpour that set him to trembling so violently that he bit his tongue and tasted blood, he began to weep. He didn't even feel it coming, not until his chest was already heaving with gulping sobs that he couldn't seem to hold in check.

It wasn't only his heartbreak over Gwen that summoned forth the anguished tears, but also the pain of a grieving boy who'd found himself alone in the world so many years before, robbed of the only sense of love or security he'd ever known. Grotesque images assailed his mind, resurrected from his subconscious by the memory of the last time he'd permitted himself to weep so shamelessly. It had been the only other moment in his life when he'd truly known what it was like to lose everything.

For the first time since his village had been attacked, he allowed himself to relive every detail of the assault, forcing himself to face visions of brutality he'd struggled for most of his life to avoid. He didn't know exactly why he did it, only that there was some important answer to be found there to a question he didn't even know how to ask. It gnawed at him with vicious intent, seeming to echo in every ragged sob that wracked his exhausted body.

_Why?_

They'd been having breakfast, Lancelot remembered, surprised that even the smallest details were still vivid in his memory. He saw himself devouring a steaming bowl of porridge and stewed apples, listening quietly to his father and mother as they'd quibbled over the little brother or sister he'd never had a chance to know. Strong, work roughened hands had covered the gentle swell of his mother's belly, caressing it tenderly as she'd turned her head to place a soft kiss against her husband's stubbled jaw.

"It'll be a boy," she'd insisted with a smile. "Another strong son to help you in the fields."

"Why do we need another son, when the one we already have is as fine a lad as we could ever hope for?" his father had responded, pausing to give Lancelot an affectionate pat on the head. "No, it will be a daughter, as sweet and pretty as her mother."

"But..." his mother had started, and then she'd trailed off abruptly as the frantic pounding of horses' hooves had shattered the quiet of their peaceful village.

There had been a scream, high pitched and terrified, followed by a vicious, guttural shout and a heavy thud. The acrid odor of smoke had filled the air, followed by a second cry of fear that had choked off into a gurgle of agony.

Lancelot had stared fearfully at his mother, who'd been clinging to his father's arm so tightly that blood had welled from beneath her fingernails. His father had never seemed to notice the scratches, however, prying her fingers loose in a gesture that was almost violent in its urgency.

"You cannot go out there!" she'd pleaded desperately, staring at him in horror as he'd reached under the bed and retrieved an ancient, slightly rusty sword that lay encased in a battered scabbard. "You're not a soldier! Good lord, they'll _kill_ you!"

His father had wiped the dust from the damaged leather, then buckled it around his waist as he'd opened the door that led to the chaos that lay beyond. "My love," he'd said softly, his voice filled with steely determination. "I don't see any soldiers coming to rescue us, do you? Stay here and take care of the boy."

But remaining inside, surrounded by the illusion of safety that was offered by solid walls, had soon become impossible as a torch had been set to its thatched roof. His mother had pushed him through an open window at the back of the cottage, then squeezed through herself, gasping in frustration as she'd struggled against the mound of her pregnant belly.

"The forest," she'd cried breathlessly. "Run for the forest!"

But Lancelot _hadn't_ run. Instead, he'd stopped dead in his tracks, frozen in horror as his innocent young eyes had taken in the brutal scene. Everywhere there had been blood, smoke, fire, and chaos, narrow dirt pathways strewn with the bodies of villagers he'd known since birth. Some had lain still and undisturbed, but others had moaned and sobbed, clutching gaping wounds as they'd writhed on the ground.

" _Run_ , Lancelot!" his mother had shouted again, but it had been too late. Even as he'd found his feet and turned to flee, the alarm had been sounded.

"There! Get those two!"

It had been the cruel edge to the strange man's voice that had finally spurred him into motion, and the desperation in his mother's pleas had urged him to continue running long after she'd dropped his hand and fallen behind.

"Run..." she'd panted, her words growing ever more distant at his back. "Hide... do not come out until..." and then she'd fallen silent.

Her lifeless body had been the first sight that had greeted his eyes when he'd finally returned to the deathly silent ruins of his former village. He'd found her sprawled just a few steps from the forest's edge, brown eyes staring blankly at the evening sky above her.

If he hadn't hesitated... if only he'd found his courage a little sooner and run like she'd told him to do, she would have survived. Upon that realization, everything inside him had changed… for the first time in his life, he'd known what it was to hate himself.

He'd pressed his face against her unmoving chest and wept piteously, wishing he could feel the comforting embrace of arms that no longer had the ability to cradle a frightened child and soothe away his distress. "I'm sorry," he'd cried, lost, broken, and utterly alone. "I'm sorry, please..."

The old cobbler had found him there, startling him by laying a gentle hand on his shaking back. Lancelot had looked up at him with anguished eyes, whispering the only words he'd known how to say.

"I killed her. I killed my mother."

" _The raiders_ killed your mother," the elderly man had contradicted, gazing down at the still form with a face full of sadness. "Unless you were the one who fired those arrows, you can't be held responsible for her death. Don't make this more tragic than it already is by carrying that burden upon your young shoulders. She wouldn't have wanted that."

There had been few survivors left among the smoking ruins, surveying the destruction of their homes and families with eyes full of hollow devastation. With a last, faint tendril of hope, Lancelot had searched their faces, even as he'd known deep in his heart that he wouldn't find the one he was looking for.

Two days later, after burying their dead in solemn silence, the others had departed to take shelter with relatives or friends in neighboring villages. Lancelot alone had remained, having had nowhere else to go. It had only been when the old cobbler had returned to salvage the last of his damaged belongings that he'd discovered the young boy seated beside his parents' graves, clinging tightly to the rusty old sword that had once belonged to his father.

Lancelot had carried just one other thing when he'd been invited to live with the man and his brother in the next village over, clutched firmly in his little fist on that night and for many nights thereafter. His mother's necklace had remained his most prized possession… until the day he'd ridden away from Camelot and left it in the keeping of the only other woman he'd ever loved.

 _Why?_ The question echoed in his mind again, only this time, he understood exactly what it was he was asking of himself. Why had he sacrificed any hope of a future with Gwen, knowing it might still be within his reach? Why did he feel so unworthy… of her, and of everything else he'd ever wanted?

He still didn't have an clear answer, only memories of that dry eyed, determined boy who'd trained relentlessly with his father's sword, swearing he'd make amends for his own part in his mother's tragic death by devoting his life to the protection of others. And in all the years thereafter, he'd spent every waking moment searching for an absolution he'd never quite been able to find.

His guilt hadn't been soothed through his failed quest for knighthood, nor had it been comforted when he'd ridden down the Griffin, only succeeding with the strength of Merlin's magic behind him. His heart had sought relief through his valiant attempts to rescue Gwen from Hengist's clutches, but even that had been for nothing. Only Merlin and Arthur's timely intrusion had saved them both from certain death.

If just _once_ , he'd managed to prove himself as a worthy protector, perhaps it might have all been different. Maybe he would've been able to trust himself with her, to find something of value that he had to offer, even when comparing himself to a man like Arthur.

Alas, he had not.

* * *

Lancelot awoke in the cold light of morning to discover he was burning with fever, his chest aching for a different reason than it had the night before. He turned weakly onto his side, curling in around himself as his body heaved with dry, racking coughs.

It took him nearly an hour to summon up the strength to rise, but he knew he was desperately ill and couldn't hope to last long without protection from the elements. He needed water, food, and shelter as quickly as possible.

Part of him wondered why he was even trying as he stumbled through the seemingly endless forest, pausing again and again to double over in fits of coughing that soon became so violent that they drove him to his knees. When the aching of his famished, fever weakened body became unbearable, he even collapsed several times, with every intention of closing his eyes and allowing himself to die right where he lay.

But something always compelled him to rise and continue onward, and after what might have just as easily been a matter of hours or days, he came upon a small village.

He was leaning against a wooden post just outside the inn, swaying on his feet as he fumbled in his pocket for the small sack of coins he'd received at Hengist's fortress, when the attack came. His senses were too dulled by illness to detect the men as they snuck up behind him, until without warning, a heavy club slammed into his back and knocked him to the ground.

Struggling to breathe through another fit of painful coughing, he failed twice in his feeble attempts to push himself up on shaking arms, before finally managing to rise on hands and knees.

And then he was down again, flattened by a savage kick to the midsection as the pair of bandits cackled gleefully and continued to pummel his weak, feverish body. He sputtered, spitting out a mouthful of dirt, then rolled onto his back and lay there without further struggle, trembling with pain and exhaustion as he waited for the death blow.

It never came.

Instead, the first assailant suddenly flew backward, landing with a such a heavy thud that it vibrated the ground beneath his prone body. The second bandit challenged the newcomer, raising his heavy club above his head and racing forward with a shout of fury. His violent charge was met with a merry chuckle as the dark haired man swerved gracefully out of the way, then spun around and unsheathed a sword in one swift motion, driving it deep into the bandit's fleshy back.

He fell with a grunt of surprise, convulsed twice, and then lay still.

The man retrieved his weapon and returned it to its scabbard, then cleared his throat and gave Lancelot a somewhat awkward grin. "Sorry about that," he said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the unmoving bodies. "I meant to make them apologize before I killed them, but I guess I get a little carried away with myself sometimes."

Lancelot stared at him in bewilderment. "What?"

"Nevermind all that," his rescuer responded hastily, leaning over to peer at his face with a great deal of concern. "You all right? No, of course you're not. Stupid question, eh? Come on, let me help you inside."

He slid his hands beneath Lancelot's shoulders and lifted him effortlessly to his feet, holding him steady as he doubled over in another fit of violent coughing. Patiently, he waited for the episode to pass, and for a moment, Lancelot was quite sure he'd felt a comforting pat on his back.

"Better then?"

"Y-yes," Lancelot replied in a shaky voice. "T-thank you. M-my name is Lancelot."

The other man opened the door to the tavern, pausing to flick a lock of thick brown hair out of his eyes before he spoke.

"Gwaine."


	50. Recuperation

#  **Chapter 50: Recuperation**

* * *

Gwaine was quite sure that the man named Lancelot was dying. Even with strong arms supporting him, he barely had the strength to make it up the stairs, struggling to breathe every step of the way.

When they finally reached their destination, Gwaine helped him remove his damp clothing, and then he collapsed heavily onto the bed, spasming weakly beneath an endless succession of dry, wracking coughs that shook him so forcefully it seemed as if that alone would finish him off.

And yet, it didn't. He stared up at Gwaine with feverish eyes, then mumbled something unintelligible, feebly shaking his head as his chest began to heave again.

"Don't try to talk," Gwaine told him shortly, feeling his heart twist in sympathy as he studied the expression of pure, exhausted suffering on the sick man's face. "Rest. I'll go downstairs and find you something to eat."

When he'd made his way back outside, he retrieved the bag of coins the bandits had stolen, then decided to help himself to the rest of their gold on Lancelot's behalf. He figured it was the least they could do under the circumstances, scowling to himself at the sheer cowardice involved in attacking such a helpless man.

By the time he returned a short time later, carrying a steaming bowl of stew, water and strong ale, Lancelot was already unconscious. Gwaine stared at him uncertainly, wondering whether he should try to get some food into him, or leave him to the rest he obviously needed. He tried to think back to the times he'd taken ill as a child, but couldn't seem to remember anything beyond the foul tasting potions his vile beast of a sister had enjoyed forcing down his throat.

Finally, after sampling the rich stew and deciding it was too good to miss, he shook Lancelot's shoulder, grinning apologetically as the man opened his eyes with a weary, frustrated groan.

"Sorry," he murmured, slipping an arm beneath his head to support him before holding the spoon to his mouth. "But if you don't go ahead and eat some of this, I'll be finishing it myself. And I imagine you need it far worse than I do."

In the end, Lancelot managed to swallow only a few sips of broth, before he turned his head away and lost consciousness again. Gwaine gazed at him helplessly as he lowered him back onto the pillows, asking himself what the hell he was supposed to do to help the man. He wasn't a physician, nor could he hope to find one in such a small village. Lancelot was sure to die under his own clumsy care, and he didn't exactly relish the thought of how terrible he'd feel if that happened.

As the hours passed, Lancelot's slumber grew more fitful. He tossed and turned restlessly, violent spasms of coughing interspersed with fretful mutterings that were indistinguishable at first, then became louder and more frantic as the fever burned through his body.

Not knowing what else to do, Gwaine tore a threadbare sheet into pieces, dipping them in the pitcher of cool water beside the bed, before laying them across Lancelot's hot, parched skin.

"Gwen... keep up the pretense," the sick man insisted in a harsh, raspy voice. "Gwen..."

Gwaine thought it was his own name Lancelot kept repeating at first, until it became clear that it was a woman he was speaking of. "Guinevere," he whispered brokenly. "Gwen."

There was little clarity to the feverish ravings as they continued, but Gwaine heard enough to gather that Lancelot had lost someone dear to him, though it was impossible to figure out how or why. There were mumblings about sacrifice, of doing the right thing, and even a wild succession of anguished words that spoke of her as a queen.

He mumbled about dreams of glory and honor, of painful failures and shattered hopes, and all with what was perhaps the most humble demeanor Gwaine had ever encountered in another person. He spoke of himself as practically nothing, while elevating the names he called out to the status of royalty and beyond.

Gwaine murmured soothing words as he tried in vain to bring his fever under control, hoping to quiet him down. It seemed like an invasion of privacy to be hearing so many intimate secrets, painful, deeply personal things that were far beyond his right to know. But he had little choice in the matter, and after a while, his curiosity got the better of him.

"Guinevere," Lancelot moaned again. "Guinevere... gone."

"Where did she go?" Gwaine asked, unable to help himself. He'd always loved to talk, finding it difficult to resist taking part in any conversation that occurred in his presence. It seemed increasingly irrelevant that other person involved in this one happened to be delirious with fever.

"Gone. She's gone."

Gwaine frowned. If nothing else, it suddenly occurred to him that he should notify _someone_ about the man's condition, even though it might be too late to do any good.

"Where?" he prodded again.

Lancelot coughed violently in response, then fell silent. When the word finally came, it was no more than a barely audible sigh. "Camelot."

"Camelot?" Gwaine questioned patiently. "Is that where you're from?"

"Camelot. Once... no more. Lost."

"You're lost? Well, there's help for that, my friend. Just get yourself better, and I'm sure you'll make it home. I'll take you there myself if you like."

Lancelot's haggard, unconscious face twisted in confusion. "No," he mumbled. "Not Camelot. Not home. I lied."

Gwaine chuckled outright at that. He'd never heard of a man telling lies while in a fever, and couldn't help being amused at the guilty tone in Lancelot's voice.

"Don't want to tell me then?" he said with a small grin. "Fair enough. I just wanted to know where to find your people. Thought I'd send word so they know where to find you."

"People? Merlin... I promised..."

"Promised what?"

"Promised... but not Gwen. Mustn't know. Not Arthur. No, it's too dangerous. Secret."

Gwaine stared at him intently, trying to make sense of the tangled direction of his feverish thoughts. "Secret?" he asked curiously.

"The magic," Lancelot whispered anxiously. "Killed the Griffin. Wasn't me. Cannot stay. Gwen... some things... I could not stay. Arthur... Merlin, I'll never tell. Magic. I'll never tell."

"What magic? What does that mean?"

"Never," Lancelot repeated stubbornly, feebly shaking his head as he began to cough again. He shifted weakly onto his side, presenting Gwaine with his bare back before drifting off into a deeper slumber.

"Fair enough," Gwaine said again, laughing quietly at the obvious dismissal.

* * *

Gwaine didn't remember falling asleep. He'd rested his head against the back of the chair for no more than a couple seconds and the next thing he knew, bright morning sunlight was shining through the window. His frantic gaze shifted immediately to the bed, panic rising in his throat as he studied Lancelot's unnaturally pale face, colorless aside from the black smudges beneath his tightly closed eyes.

He looked like a corpse as he lay there unmoving, an image that wasn't helped by the fact that his body was already wasted by sickness, nor by the numerous bruises and angry red lacerations that colored his chalky skin.

 _I tried_ , Gwaine thought with sad resignation. He reached out to lay a hand on Lancelot's chest to confirm his suspicions, when his eyes suddenly detected the shallow rise and fall of a breath being drawn. Relief filled his heart, and he smiled.

"Stronger than you look, I'll give you that," he said almost cheerfully to the sleeping man.

Later that morning, Gwaine headed downstairs to the tavern, determined to find some way to help Lancelot beyond his own clumsy efforts. The barmaid was resistant to his questions at first, but he was easily able to maneuver around that small obstacle with nothing more than a charming smile and a well-timed compliment.

The healer she mentioned, an ancient, bearded man with a toothless scowl, was not so easily persuaded. He haughtily informed Gwaine that his services were only for the local villagers, and did not extend to the riffraff that frequented "that miserable inn." All of Gwaine's flattery and clever words were for nothing; he remained stubbornly aloof until a hefty amount of gold crossed his wrinkled palm.

Despite his surly nature, however, the elderly man soon proved to be a skillful healer. He clucked disapprovingly to himself as he examined Lancelot from head to toe, pausing every so often to shoot a baleful glance in Gwaine's direction, as if _he_ was personally responsible for the man's pitiful condition.

With Lancelot, on the other hand, the old healer's manner was gentle, almost tender. He murmured soothing words as he bathed the injuries, carefully smearing them with pungent smelling paste before applying clean bandages. After laying his head against Lancelot's chest for a few seconds, he nodded sagely, then opened his satchel and retrieved a vial of murky liquid.

"What are you doing?" Gwaine asked him skeptically, unwilling to trust much of anything that came in potion form. "What is that?"

The elderly man turned, freezing him to the core with his pale blue stare. "What do you think it is, fool? If I'm not mistaken, you paid me to come up here and save this man's life. If you'd shut your yap and stop distracting me, that's exactly what I intend to do."

Gwaine frowned, unnerved by the open hostility. "You're sure it won't hurt him?"

His question was met with an exasperated sigh. "Bloody hell," the healer swore half to himself, urging Lancelot's mouth open with a practiced finger. "Far more tolerable when they're dying than when they're healthy, that's for sure."

Lancelot choked as the first few drops of the draught slid down his throat, but just as Gwaine made to intervene, he noticed with a great deal of surprise that his breathing was a little less labored than it had been before. His bandaged chest rose and fell more evenly, and it even seemed as if a bit of color had crept back into his wan face.

"Thank you," Gwaine said gratefully, extending a helpful hand as the old man packed his supplies away and began to struggle to his feet. "He already seems much better."

"Shows what you know," came the sharp retort, as the well-meaning gesture was pointedly ignored. "Your friend will be needing several more doses before there's even the smallest chance of clearing the infection from his lungs. Every two hours. And if you don't want him dead anyway, I suggest you get some food in him as well. Water, too."

Despite the healer's last, dubious look at Lancelot before he left the room, his condition began to improve rapidly soon thereafter. His skin was much cooler to the touch, and he slept peacefully throughout the rest of the afternoon. When Gwaine went downstairs to retrieve supper, he was surprised upon his return to find a fully awake Lancelot staring at him with an expression of mild confusion.

"Y-you?" he questioned tentatively, in a voice that was still raspy, yet stronger than it had been the previous night. "I'm not dead?"

And then he fell silent like he was embarrassed by the question, probably because the answer was blatantly obvious. His discomfort became even more apparent as he glanced down at his naked, bandaged body, then cleared his throat awkwardly as he reached for a blanket to cover himself.

"No, you're not dead," Gwaine said with a satisfied grin as he set down the tray of food. "Doing much better from what I can see. You hungry?"

Lancelot nodded.

* * *

"I can't even begin to thank you for all your kindness," Lancelot told Gwaine a few days later, the sincerity in his voice mingled with a touch of disbelief. "If there's any way I can repay you..."

Gwaine studied the other man over the rim of his tankard. He was still too thin and probably a bit more pale than he should've been. His body was obviously weakened by the illness he'd suffered, and he was still plagued the occasional coughing fit during the night. But he was getting stronger by the day, and had even managed to come to the tavern without needing any support as he'd made his way down the stairs.

"You're already repaying me," Gwaine said with a careless grin, hoisting his tankard in the air before taking another long swallow. "Who do you think bought these drinks? Wasn't me, I'll tell you that much."

"Well, it's the least I can do," Lancelot replied, looking a little flustered. "But I don't have anything else to..."

Gwaine interrupted with a quiet chuckle. "I didn't do it because I was expecting something in return. You needed help when I happened to be nearby, so I did what I could for you. It's as simple as that."

"I still owe you..."

"Nothing," Gwaine finished for him. "What I did for you is what I'd hope someone would do for me in the same situation. Nothing more."

Lancelot studied his face for a long moment, and Gwaine saw a flurry of different emotions play across his gaunt features… curiosity, respect, and even something that strongly resembled trust. He felt a little humbled, but it was nowhere near the level of humility he read in the other man's eyes as he murmured his thanks once more.

The unassuming demeanor reminded him of the feverish ravings he'd listened to during that first night, and suddenly, he couldn't help wondering who Lancelot really was inside.

Who was Gwen, and how did Lancelot lose her? What about the other names he'd mentioned, Merlin and Arthur? Why did he seem to feel so much guilt where they were concerned, when he obviously cared for them deeply? And most of all, if he had not just one, but _three_ people to love, what had he been doing alone and friendless, practically dying when Gwaine had intervened on his behalf?

Lancelot was almost well enough to make it on his own, and had the means to get by in the meantime, thanks to the gold that had been pilfered on his behalf. Perhaps Gwaine should simply wish him well and be on his way now that his assistance was no longer needed.

But above all things, he'd always been an insatiably curious man, so he couldn't seem to come up with a good reason as to why he shouldn't stick around a little longer.

"Let's have another drink," he told Lancelot cheerfully, giving him a winning smile.


	51. The Wager

#  **Chapter 51: The Wager**

* * *

Lancelot watched in amazement as Gwaine polished off one tankard of ale after another, seeming unaffected by the tremendous amounts of alcohol he was consuming. He smiled endearingly at the blushing barmaid as he gently teased and then openly flirted with her, only becoming more charming as the hours passed, never less so.

It was only when he rose to his feet that it became obvious how much he'd overindulged. He teetered dangerously, nearly stumbling backward over his chair before Lancelot managed to catch his swaying body and hold him upright.

Lancelot, more than a little tipsy himself and not yet fully recovered from his illness, didn't exactly feel steady either, but he somehow found the strength to help the hysterically laughing man up the stairs and into bed.

"See what I mean?" Gwaine slurred at Lancelot as he kicked off his boots and stretched out on his back. "Everyone needs a little help sometimes. After all, what would I have done if you hadn't been here?"

"I'm sure that barmaid would have taken good care of you," Lancelot countered with a smile.

"True," Gwaine admitted thoughtfully. "But you see my point. I'm just saying that... that... well, nevermind. I'll remember it tomorrow, I'm sure."

Lancelot settled himself gingerly on the cold, hard floor, pulling a threadbare blanket over his shivering body as his eyes drifted closed. Gwaine had insisted upon him taking the bed until he was completely healed, but it seemed that his new friend was far too drunk to notice the difference. Lancelot was glad for it; after all, the man had saved his life. A comfortable place to sleep was the least he deserved in return.

"Who's Gwen?"

Lancelot's eyes flew open in shock. Gwaine, who he'd assumed must be well asleep by then, was leaning over the side of the bed, staring down at him with a guilty, yet inquisitive look on his face.

"What... how would you...?" he trailed off, struggling with the pain of hearing her name spoken aloud when he'd been fighting so hard to keep any thoughts of her at bay. Not that he'd been successful, of course, but having to acknowledge the reality of his loss to another person was something else entirely.

But more importantly, how would Gwaine even know about Gwen in the first place?

As intoxicated as he was, the other man seemed to sense Lancelot's bewildered distress. "Sorry," he said, sounding surprisingly sincere, despite the fact that the word was rather garbled. "You... that first night, I brought you upstairs. You had a fever, and you were calling for her. I just wondered... didn't mean to pry."

Lancelot took a deep breath to steady himself. "She... she's no one," he said, attempting to sound casual. "Why? What did I say?"

"Said you loved her," Gwaine told him, peering down into his face with bleary, yet increasingly curious eyes. With a sinking feeling, Lancelot realized there'd be no easy escape from this particular conversation.

"Well..." he started, feeling flustered. "I was delirious. Doesn't necessarily mean... well, you told that barmaid you loved _her_ , didn't you? I'm quite sure _that_ wasn't the truth."

"Oh, that's where you're wrong, my friend!" Gwaine proclaimed grandly, clapping his hand over his heart with a flourish. "She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and tomorrow, I have every intention of bringing her upstairs with me. Would have done it tonight, but you've obviously had too much to drink. Didn't want to leave you alone in your shameful condition."

Unable to help himself, Lancelot shook his head in disbelief.

"Don't believe me, eh? Well, tomorrow, you'll see."

Lancelot hated to be unkind, but he wasn't half as drunk as Gwaine was, and remembered what the barmaid had _actually_ looked like. She'd been significantly older than the pair of them, a heavy set, rather dumpy woman with flat brown hair and even flatter breasts. Her face had been extremely plain, with a nose that was far too broad and lips that were so thin they might as well have been nonexistent.

And she'd had hair growing on her upper lip, Lancelot recalled with a shudder. Not just a bit of fuzz, but a thick dusting of whiskers that reminded him of his own stubble when he hadn't been near a razor in a week... or truthfully, more like a month.

"Don't worry," he reassured the drunk man, who was dangling off the side of the bed with a lazy, self-satisfied grin on his face. "By morning I'll forget you ever said that. Hopefully you will, too."

"I'll _never_ forget!" Gwaine insisted passionately, his features twisting into something that might have been a scowl if he hadn't been seconds away from bursting into laughter. "I love... Mary? Was that her name? Suppose it doesn't matter. Tell you what, Lancelot. Since you don't believe me, how about I suggest a little wager?"

Lancelot raised an eyebrow and waited for him to continue.

"If I wake up in the morning and do exactly as I've promised, you have to swear that you'll tell me the truth about Gwen. All of it."

Hearing her name made Lancelot cringe from the inevitable pain all over again, but even so, he stopped and considered the suggestion. As harebrained as the bet seemed, it might give him the opportunity to escape questions he _really_ didn't want to answer... questions Gwaine obviously wasn't going to forget about until his curiosity was satisfied.

"And if you don't?"

"If I _don't_ take her to my bed tomorrow, I'll never mention Gwen again."

"Never?"

"You have my word."

* * *

Lancelot awoke with a pounding head and a foul taste in his mouth, surprised and slightly annoyed to find Gwaine staring down at him with bright, energetic eyes. It was obnoxious – not only did the man have the ability to drink like a fish, but he obviously didn't suffer from hangovers either.

"Thought you were going to sleep all day," he remarked with a cheerful grin. "Let's go downstairs and get something to eat. See what's to come of our wager too, eh?"

It was Lancelot who spotted her first, immediately deciding that he'd won the bet right then and there. She hurried over with what appeared to be soot stains all over her ragged dress, grinning up at both of them, but particularly at Gwaine, with a mouth full of crooked, almost rodent like teeth.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked in a thin, reedy voice.

Gwaine swallowed hard and looked a little pale, but just as Lancelot was preparing to congratulate himself on an easy victory, the other man executed a deep, graceful bow, then lifted the barmaid's hand to his lips, placing a lingering kiss against her sausage like fingers.

"One look at your sweet face should be all I need to sustain me," Gwaine declared, looking for all the world as if he were head over heels in love. "But as I am only human, I also need food to fill my belly. And some for my friend here if you don't mind."

A bright red blush spread across the woman's sallow cheeks. She stuttered, then nodded and hurried away to fetch their breakfast.

Lancelot watched incredulously as Gwaine flattered the barmaid with an endless stream of exaggerated compliments throughout the course of their meal. Dingy brown hair became golden shafts of ripened wheat, beady black eyes were likened to precious jewels, and all the while, Lancelot was certain she'd see right through the painfully obvious fabrications and order them out of her tavern.

She didn't.

Instead, she hung on Gwaine's every word, giggling and blushing like a young girl as she swatted at him playfully. Their cups never ran empty, their plates were piled high with sausages and fresh baked bread again and again, all with her insistence that she wouldn't accept a single coin in exchange for the lavish breakfast.

When they had finished, Gwaine rose to his feet and leaned much closer than was necessary to whisper something in her ear. She stumbled backward, looking a little dazed, then stammered something about needing to return their plates to the kitchen. "I-I'll be right back," she promised in a shaky voice. "W-wait here, please."

"You don't _really_ mean to go through with this, do you?" Lancelot muttered under his breath as soon as she was gone.

"Of course I do," Gwaine replied nonchalantly. "Said I would, didn't I?"

Yes, but don't you think it's a little... cruel? I mean...?"

"For me or for her?"

Lancelot frowned, not wanting to be openly insulting where the woman was concerned. "Well, you don't actually _want_ to, do you? And what about her? Isn't it... aren't you giving her the wrong impression by saying all those things?"

Gwaine gave him a surprised look. "What do you mean?"

"She might think you're interested in more than just..."

But it was too late. The barmaid had returned, staring up at Gwaine with a gleam in her small black eyes that reminded Lancelot of a feral dog on the verge of devouring a meaty bone. For a moment, he was afraid she might actually start drooling, but instead, she just giggled and prodded the hapless man toward the staircase.

Gwaine somehow managed to look incredibly amused and downright horrified at the same time. He shot Lancelot an uneasy grin over his shoulder, muttering that he should creep upstairs and press his ear to the door if he needed proof.

And then the oddly mismatched pair was gone.

Lancelot would've never dreamed of eavesdropping on something so private, but as it turned out, there was no need. A few minutes after the door above his head closed with a resounding thud, the ceiling began to vibrate with a steady, rhythmic pounding. He shifted in embarrassment, suddenly deciding he desperately needed a bit of fresh air.

When he returned from his walk over an hour later, there was still no sign of Gwaine. A different barmaid, a sweet-faced young woman with a tangle of yellow curls and soft brown eyes, wandered aimlessly around the tavern, staring up at the ceiling in confusion and then in alarm as the rickety bed gave off a series of loud squeaks that seemed as if they'd never end.

A high-pitched, distinctly animalistic howl echoed through the corridor above, and then all was silent.

Lancelot was just finishing up his second tankard of ale, drinks he'd only ordered to give the bewildered young barmaid something to do other than pace back and forth, when Gwaine finally stumbled down the stairs. His normally smooth brown hair was sticking up in different directions, and his trousers were laced so loosely that they looked as if they might fall off at any second. He seemed dazed at first, until he gave his head a shake and treated Lancelot to an enormous grin.

"I believe I've won our wager," he said with a breathless chuckle. "Several times over, to tell you the truth. And now I need a drink!"

"M- mother?"

Lancelot and Gwaine turned their heads to see the pretty younger woman peering at the older barmaid uncertainly, fluttering her hands as she brought forth a shawl to cover a dress that was ripped to the point of indecency.

"Mother, you should be _ashamed_ of yourself!" she hissed under her breath. "Right in the middle of the day, and loud enough for the entire village to hear you! What were you thinking?!"

The other woman turned to her with a blissful, self-satisfied smile. "Take one look at him and tell me you wouldn't have done the same in my place."

Gwaine was fully prepared when the soft brown eyes fell upon the table again. His mouth turned up in a charming grin, and he winked devilishly at the pair of barmaids. Their reactions were uncannily similar as two sets of cheeks turned pink and they each began to stutter.

"Well..." the younger woman started, then seemed to forget her point as Gwaine practically preened under their avid stares. "Well, nevermind."

"Take over for me, would you? I'm _exhausted_."

After the older barmaid had left to seek her bed, Gwaine waved the younger one over and ordered a round of drinks. He didn't seem embarrassed by what had transpired; on the contrary, he let out a sigh of contentment as she leaned over the table to serve them, his eyes lingering appreciatively on the swell of her breasts as they strained against the bodice of her too tight gown.

She seemed flustered when she caught the direction of his gaze, but then quickly recovered, giving him a coy smile before walking away with a noticeable swing to her shapely hips.

Gwaine whistled under his breath as he stared after her. "Looks like I picked the wrong one, eh? Well, no reason not to have them both."

"But you... you _just_ finished," Lancelot said, gaping at him incredulously. "Haven't you had enough for now?"

"Ah, it's _never_ enough, my friend," Gwaine responded with a suggestive wink.

"But you just bedded her mother! Even if she would, isn't it a little wrong to... I mean, you can't..." Lancelot trailed off, unsure of whether he should be amused or horrified. The man was completely shameless, but somehow, that only seemed to make him more endearing, not less so.

"Oh, I _could_ ," Gwaine said, pausing to take a long swig of ale before continuing. "But I won't. We have more important things to talk about just now, don't you think?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," Lancelot said evasively, knowing exactly what Gwaine was referring to. He cast a surreptitious glance around the nearly empty tavern, realizing there wouldn't be much hope for any delays or distractions in the sleepy room.

Gwaine flashed him a patient smile. "Are you really going to make me say it?"

"No," Lancelot said quietly. "You want to know about Gw... yes, you did win the wager. And I agreed to the terms."

Surprisingly, Gwaine shook his head. "Listen," he murmured almost gently. "I was only joking with you. I can't deny that I'm curious; always been a nosy bastard. But if it's really that hard for you, just tell me to stay out of your business and I will."

Lancelot stared at Gwaine from across the table, feeling as if he was really seeing him for the first time. This was a man who'd saved his life without question when he could have just walked away. He'd been gravely ill and Gwaine had stayed by his side the entire time, making sure he had food, medicine, and proper care rather than abandoning him to his fate.

But most of all, he'd made sure Lancelot wasn't alone during one of the darkest, most frightening times in his life. Was a little truthfulness  _really_ so much to ask in return?

No.

Lancelot would have made good on the wager either way, but looking into Gwaine's honest brown eyes, sensing the kind heart and good intentions beneath all the careless bluster, made it infinitely easier to do so.

And then he suddenly realized just how tired he was of being alone. Throughout his life, he'd always walked a solitary path, keeping his deepest fears and most painful heartaches safely locked away. He didn't know why; perhaps it was just his nature to minimize his own suffering for the sake of others, to always view their needs as more important than his own.

But it was different with Gwaine, who didn't seem to need a thing in the world beyond another refill. So without further hesitation, Lancelot took a deep breath and began to speak.

At first he only meant to give a few vague details, explaining that he'd wanted to become a knight only to learn that he couldn't due to the fact that he wasn't a noble, and that he'd met people who'd meant a great deal to him during his time in Camelot. He wanted to rush through what had happened in more recent times, glossing over the reasons he'd lost Gwen as he calmly reassured the other man that it was for the best.

It might have been easily accomplished with anyone else, but Gwaine was entirely too perceptive to be brushed off so easily. He listened quietly as Lancelot spoke, occasionally raising a skeptical eyebrow when he knew he wasn't receiving the full story. And as the hours passed and countless tankards were drained by both men, he seemed to learn more about Lancelot than perhaps he even knew about himself.

Unaccustomed to finding himself so vulnerable in front of another person, Lancelot wanted to blame the alcohol, or even the wager itself for the shameless, brutal honesty he'd never known himself to be capable of. But he knew that wasn't it. Something about Gwaine just compelled him to keep talking until there were no more secrets.

No more, save one that was not his own to tell.

When Gwaine finally spoke again, his voice was quiet and somber. "You've had a rough time of it, my friend," he said. "There's no denying that. But there's a difference between the things we cannot help and those we can."

Lancelot gave him a confused look. "What do you mean?"

Gwaine leaned across the table, softening his next words with a gentle smile.

"I'm saying that you're a bloody fool."


	52. Faith Renewed

#  **Chapter 52: Faith Renewed**

* * *

"A fool?" Lancelot repeated as he stared at Gwaine in shock. There he was, confessing his deepest and most painful secrets, only to be insulted in return? Perhaps he'd misjudged the man.

Gwaine shook his head slightly. "No," he replied, casually flicking a lock of thick brown hair away from his forehead before taking another drink. "I said you were a _bloody_ fool."

"I don't understand..."

"What makes you think this Arthur is a better man than you?" he suddenly burst out, slamming his empty tankard down with a loud thud. "Why do you think you're less worthy than he is? Because he's a noble?"

Lancelot opened his mouth then closed it again, unsure of how to respond. "I..."

Gwaine didn't give him a chance to continue. "From what you're telling me, you spent half your life training to serve him, and all for what? So he could throw it back in your face like you were worthless? And you just..."

"That wasn't Arthur. That was his fa..."

"And you just accepted it. Typical."

"Typical of _what_ , exactly?"

Gwaine leaned forward, meeting him glare for glare. "It's no wonder these royals are able to convince so many soldiers to die for their foolishness. They pretend it's an _honor_ for men to sacrifice their lives, and to make matters worse, commoners are even rejected as not being good enough? _That's_ what's typical. They lead you to believe they're the one granting _you_ a favor, not the other way around. And you swallowed all that horseshit."

"Even if the code was wrong, it doesn't change the fact that I lied."

"Yes, it does. How can you fault yourself for trying to correct an injustice? If I was mad enough to actually _want_ to become a knight and found myself that sort of position, I would've done the same damn thing. Fortunately, I'm not."

"I know the code wasn't fair. I know I had good intentions, regardless of my methods. But…"

Gwaine raised an eyebrow, searching his face so intently that Lancelot shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Do you?"

"Of course I do."

"I'm not so sure about that. Years later, and you're still walking around believing you're unworthy. You still seem to think that these men, this Arthur, are better than you. Why?"

"You don't know Arthur," Lancelot said firmly, avoiding Gwaine's penetrating stare as he traced his finger around a ring of condensation on the table. "It isn't just his position. He has a noble heart. He's fair and treats all men as equals. He's going to be a great king someday."

"Even if that's true, which I seriously doubt, that still doesn't answer my question. What makes him _better_ than you?"

"I... it's hard to explain. You wouldn't understand. You just... you'd have to know him."

"You're right," Gwaine said stiffly. "I _wouldn't_ understand. I never understood why my father blindly swore allegiance to King Caerleon either. Paid his taxes, fought in his battles, spent his whole life serving the crown, and for _what?_ To die on the point of a sword over a petty border dispute? That's what knighthood is... helping men with too much gold and power get exactly what they want. All for the sake of a lot of pretty words about honor and justice that mean nothing."

"I'm sorry," Lancelot said quietly. "I didn't know."

Gwaine's face softened a little, but he wasn't finished. "As for honor," he muttered with a slightly bitter edge to his voice. "Caerleon refused to grant my mother assistance when she begged for his help. We had nothing left, you see; it was all spent on taxes, or tributes to the Crown. Does _that_ sound like an honorable pursuit to you? Sacrificing yourself and everything you have on behalf of a king who would allow your wife and two young children to linger in poverty?"

"No. But they can't _all_ be like that. Arthur..."

"Never met one who wasn't, but it's not for me to change your mind. Still, that doesn't explain why you'd give up this woman you love for his sake. Even my father wouldn't have done that, and I've never known a man who could match him for loyalty or devotion."

Lancelot closed his eyes and took a deep breath before responding. "I didn't do it for his sake. I did it for hers."

"So you find her again after all this time. You still love her, she still loves you. You rescue her from a terrible fate... all right, so you had help with that," Gwaine added, practically rolling his eyes when Lancelot opened his mouth to protest. "Either way, everyone's safe. You notice the prince seems to have feelings for your Gwen, so you decide to give her up. Have I got that right?"

A slight nod was all Lancelot could manage. Why did it sound so different from Gwaine's perspective?

"Did she tell you she preferred Arthur?"

Lancelot shook his head.

"Did she ever say she didn't want to be with you?"

"No," he whispered.

"Did you decide you didn't want to be with her after all? Thought you could dump her off on Arthur and be well rid of her?"

Lancelot bolted to his feet, reaching instinctively for his sword before realizing he'd left it upstairs. His hands clenched into fists instead as he glared down at Gwaine, his dark eyes burning with fury.

"How dare you? She... I... you can't possibly imagine how difficult it was for me to..."

Gwaine remained in his chair, infuriatingly unperturbed by the outburst. "Sit back down," he said casually, waving a lazy hand at the other side of the table. "It was only a question. No harm intended."

"I'm sorry, I just..."

"She meant a great deal to you. Kind of figured that. But that's what makes this so difficult to understand. If you truly loved her, why desert her the way you did? It's obviously made you miserable, and I'm sure it wasn't exactly enjoyable for her either. So why...?"

"She'll have a better life with Arthur," Lancelot said dully. "He can give her comfort, security, protection. She could be queen someday. I don't have it in my power to give her all the things he can."

"And how do you know that's the life she even wants? Has she ever said so?"

"No... but, well, why _wouldn't_ she?"

"Well, let's see," Gwaine said, his brow wrinkling in mock thoughtfulness. "She might not care for material things the way you seem to believe she should. She might prefer a life of freedom, even if it's a simpler one, over the endless rules and protocol of court life. She might feel nothing for this Prince Arthur, or he might decide not to marry her after all. There are any number of reasons she might want a different life than the one you've chosen for her."

"I didn't _choose_ it for her. I merely gave her a chance at happiness."

"A chance she didn't ask for? With a man she never said she wanted?"

"Yes... I mean, no. I just... it's not that simple."

"Very honorable of you," Gwaine commented, not bothering to hide the edge of sarcasm in his voice. "Not allowing a woman to think for herself is undoubtedly the best way to ensure her happiness."

Lancelot's intoxicated mind was a jumble of confusion. All his best arguments were falling flat under Gwaine's scrutiny, only seeming to make less sense the more he tried to explain himself. The alcohol must have been responsible for that, because surely he'd done the right thing... hadn't he? Yes, of course he had. He _had_ to believe that, if for no other reason than the alternative was unthinkable.

"It _was_ honorable," he insisted firmly. "How will she ever know what she's truly worth if she's not given the chance to see it for herself? I would've only held her back."

"Aha!" Gwaine said, his face breaking into a knowing grin. "We're back to the subject of worth, which is _really_ what this is all about. Forgive me for saying so, friend, but it seems to me that the only person who doesn't understand their own worth is sitting right in front of me."

Lancelot struggled with that assessment for a few minutes, unable to think of a suitable reply.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," the pretty young barmaid who'd been refilling their drinks all night said timidly. "I really must close up now. It's well after midnight, and..."

"Forgive us," Gwaine replied, flashing her a charming smile. "Here, take a little something extra for your trouble."

As Lancelot watched in horror, the other man tossed the last of their dwindling supply of coins on her empty tray.

* * *

"What are we supposed to do now?" he questioned the following morning, then clutched his aching head as his voice echoed so loudly it seemed as if it would split his skull in two. If nothing else, at least being out of gold meant they didn't have means to acquire any more drinks.

Gwaine turned from the window where he'd been admiring the morning sunshine, as chipper as he always was after a night of heavy drinking.

"About what?"

"We're out of money," Lancelot pointed out much more quietly. "We obviously can't continue to stay here without the means to pay."

"Oh, that," Gwaine said nonchalantly. "I was thinking it was time to move on anyway. We'll find a way to make more wherever we go, I'm sure. No need to worry."

Lancelot couldn't understand how he could be so cavalier about it, remembering his own months of struggle and starvation all too clearly. The only way he'd ever managed to earn money for himself had been in the cage, and he'd sworn during his time with Gwen that he'd never allow himself to return to such a dishonorable pursuit.

But if he couldn't fight, what else could he do?

It had been his greatest struggle since he'd left Camelot years before, but traveling with Gwaine soon proved to be quite different than all of his previous experience. They bid farewell to the tiny village, and by the time they reached the next settlement the following day, the surprisingly resourceful man had already arranged work for them both.

As the weeks passed, he never seemed to run out of new and interesting ways to earn a bit of gold. He offered their services to local farmers and tradesmen, but unlike Lancelot, who'd approached such positions desperate and empty-handed only to be turned away, Gwaine had an uncanny way of convincing the very same people that he was doing _them_ a favor by agreeing to work for them.

Sometimes they mended fences or broken buildings. On other occasions, they helped harvest crops or herd animals. There were times when Gwaine would convince the more well-to-do merchants they needed additional protection while transporting their wares, and others where he even managed to gain their trust enough to help sell the merchandise himself, taking a previously agreed upon share of the profit in exchange.

These were the most ideal arrangements, as Gwaine was able to part with an amazing amount of merchandise in exchange for a few charming smiles and well-chosen words. Several merchants even offered him a permanent position, but he always graciously declined. As Lancelot quickly learned, Gwaine was a wanderer, preferring never to remain in one place for long.

They never actually discussed their unspoken agreement to travel together. It just happened that way, and though neither man chose to say so, it was understood that each was grateful for the other's company.

* * *

 _Dear Merlin_ , Lancelot wrote on a clean sheet of parchment, smiling as he always did when he thought of his friend.

_Thank you for your last letter. I must admit that I've never encountered a troll, nor do I believe I'd want to. I'm relieved to hear that everything worked out in the end. Perhaps someday, you can tell me exactly how that happened, but I know there are some things that are not suitable to communicate by missive._

Lancelot paused, scrutinizing the words he'd just written to ensure there wasn't even a trace of a hint that alluded to Merlin's magic, of which he was quite certain had been utilized in order to dispose of the dreadful troll. He chuckled softly, picturing a besotted Uther gazing rapturously at the foul creature.

_I am quite well, thank you for asking. Yes, my companion and I are traveling north now that summer is upon us. We stopped off here in Gawant to work as temporary laborers during the planting season, but as you've surely noticed by now, we never remain in one place for long. I enjoy having the chance to see so many beautiful locations, but I must admit I often long to sleep in the same bed each night._

_Nonetheless, I suppose I can't complain._

_Yes, I do think about returning to Camelot someday, but I don't think it would be the wisest idea just yet. We both know why, and I think we also understand that it's for the best that I stay away until a considerable amount of time has passed. Though I'd welcome the chance to see you, I'd never wish to cause any conflict._

_Still, I'll always cherish Camelot in my heart as the closest place to home I've ever known. For now, that is enough of a comfort for me._

_Be well, Merlin. I'll send you the means to contact me at my next location as soon as I can._

_Please give Gwen my best._

Lancelot read the final line he'd written unthinkingly, then cringed and carefully traced over the name.

_Please give Gaius my best._

He examined the swiftly drying ink, frowning as he realized Merlin would see exactly what he'd done. And then he shook his head in resignation and sealed the parchment anyway. They might not speak of it directly, but Merlin was well aware of his feelings. He'd understand.

Lancelot rolled his eyes as the sound of Gwaine's enthusiastic grunts reached him through the thin walls of the workman's quarters where they'd been staying over the previous few weeks. He couldn't be sure whether it was the farmer's daughter tonight, or one of the milkmaids; he'd quickly learned it was impossible to keep up with Gwaine's seemingly endless conquests.

Rather than speculating further on the matter, he stepped outside and breathed deeply of the warm summer air, gazing up at the stars as he often liked to do before bed.

And then as always, he thought of her.

Though they'd never spoken of it again, Lancelot had found himself haunted by Gwaine's rather merciless assessment of his actions. Had he truly done the right thing? He wasn't so sure anymore. It had been so easy to feel hopeless, as if he'd had nothing to offer, when he'd been nothing more than a mercenary fighter who'd had nothing to look forward to aside from degradation and brutality from the life he'd chosen.

But his world was entirely different without the constant reality of meaningless violence, living free of shame and dishonor. Thanks to Gwaine, he'd learned any number of _honest_ ways to secure an income, and was even starting to accumulate a small amount of savings for himself. And more than that, he _enjoyed_ the work. It might not be the pure, instinctual feeling of rightness that came to him in combat, but the simple act of losing himself in any sort of physical labor carried its own sense of satisfaction.

Sometimes when his mind drifted in the midst of some menial task, he'd picture their life together as it might've been. He'd see himself working hard, painstakingly saving his earnings for a place they might have been able to share together. His heart would grow warm as he thought of coming home to her lovely face every evening, his weariness melting away as he took her in his arms.

These daydreams felt so natural, to the point where he sometimes forgot all the reasons he'd had for leaving her in the first place. The only thing that seemed to jar him back to reality anymore was the fact that he _had_ , and whether it had been the right decision or not, he couldn't change it now. He had no choice but to accept what he'd done, to stand aside and allow her to move on with her life.

But as his spirit healed and life became more stable, it was increasingly difficult to believe that the future he dreamed of was as impossible as it had once seemed. As shame, uncertainty, and despair faded away, the last remnants of the previously violent and unpredictable life he'd led before, much of his persistent self-doubt was gradually replaced by a more hopeful outlook, a renewed belief that the days to come could indeed lead to better things.

Nothing was certain, he realized. Just like the crescent moon that captivated his gaze as he stared up at the starry sky, all things would wax and wane as they were meant to do. Yes, perhaps he'd made what _seemed_ like a permanent decision, but was the future he'd envisioned for Gwen any guarantee? So many things in life could change in a single moment... perhaps it had been arrogant on his part to believe that the future had been his own to determine.

If it was Gwen's fate to marry Arthur and become Queen of Camelot, it would surely come to pass. But if that wasn't the case after all, maybe the fates would lead him back to her someday. That belief became enough to sustain him – a simple, quiet certainty that if he could only be patient, the answers would be revealed in due time.

In the meantime, it was this sense of faith that helped him suppress the increasingly frequent desire to write to Gwen and tell her what was truly in his heart... the haunting fear that the choice he'd made had been terribly, terribly wrong.


	53. Truth Behind Denial

#  **Chapter 53: Truth Behind Denial**

* * *

"Is that him?" Gwen murmured as she joined Morgana at the chamber window.

"Yes."

The man known as the Witchfinder stood like a sentinel in the deserted street, a stately, black clad figure with a proud tilt to his head and a hard, uncompromising expression on his weathered face. Gwen felt a chill in the pit of her stomach as she looked beyond him to the sinister wagon that had marked his arrival in Camelot.

"What's that cage for?"

Morgana was trembling beside her and indeed, it felt as if the temperature of the warm summer night had plummeted in the very same moment the man had set foot into the peaceful city.

"It hardly bears thinking about," she whispered fearfully.

Gwen bit her lip as they watched the Witchfinder ascend the palace steps and disappear. And then she turned away, determined to suppress a heavy sense of foreboding by focusing on some menial chore instead. It was useless; everywhere she looked, the chamber was spotless.

"My lady, is there anything else I can do for you tonight?"

Morgana hadn't moved from her place at the window. "When will it end?" she muttered to herself. "How many more lives must be destroyed before his hatred is satisfied?"

"I don't know," Gwen responded sadly, as unbidden, an image of her father's gentle smile flashed before her eyes. "But I wish..."

"Will you stay with me tonight, Gwen?" Morgana interrupted in a tremulous voice. "I'd rather not be alone right now."

Gwen offered her what she hoped was a comforting smile. "Of course I will."

* * *

Morgana awoke with a scream, jarring Gwen from her own uneasy slumber with her cries of distress. Gwen was at her side in a flash, whispering a flurry of soothing words as the terrified woman fell into her arms and sobbed against her shoulder.

"I don't want Gaius to die," she pleaded in a muffled, broken voice. "Please... he's just an old man. Please don't do this."

"Shhh," Gwen murmured softly. "It was only a dream, Morgana. Here, let me retrieve your potion for you, and..."

She started to rise, only to be held fast when Morgana's arms wrapped even more tightly around her neck. "I know you're frightened, but maybe it will help. Let me..."

"It _never_ helps," Morgana spat angrily, her tear filled eyes suddenly blazing with fury as she jerked away from Gwen's embrace. "The more I take, the more these visions haunt me!"

Fear pricked at the edges of Gwen's consciousness. _Visions?_ No, visions were the product of sorcery according to Uther, and even the slightest possibility of Morgana being connected with magic was enough to make her cringe in terror. No, these could be nothing more than dreams; she was unwilling to imagine the repercussions her friend would face if they turned out to be anything else.

"It was only a nightmare," she repeated firmly, unsure whether it was Morgana or herself who was more in need of reassurance as she hurried back to the bed with a small vial clutched in her hand. "It's not real."

Morgana opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again, her momentary flash of anger suddenly replaced by a watery, self-conscious smile. Without another word, she reached for the potion and lifted it to her lips, meekly swallowing the contents before she lay back against the pillows and closed her eyes once more.

* * *

The streets of Camelot bustled with activity during the days that followed, citizens going about their normal routines as if nothing were amiss. It was only upon closer inspection that the strain was evident; servants, craftsman, and merchants alike scurried about nervously, the fear that flickered behind their eyes speaking of a truth they couldn't voice aloud.

Gwen understood their quiet sense of dread at a level that was only possible for someone who had been a longtime resident of the city. This was far from the first time Uther had overreacted to the suggestion of sorcery, whether that threat was real or only imagined. And as she passed one familiar face after another, she was hard put to find even one who hadn't personally suffered from the king's tyrannical war on magic.

How many of the citizens who'd already lost their lives had truly been guilty? She couldn't say, but it was difficult to believe that the cobbler's former apprentice, a gangly youth with a a friendly grin and a sweet, unassuming nature, had been a sorcerer with a plan to break into the palace treasury. He'd been one of the lucky ones; his cell had been empty on the morning of his execution, and despite an exhaustive search, he'd never been seen again.

Others had not been so fortunate, however. Gwen's heart ached with sympathy as she passed the fruit peddler who always set up his wares just a few dozen paces away from the palace, still remembering him as a joyful man who'd been forever armed with a smile and a fresh slice of whatever fruit he had in excess that day for the local children who visited his cart.

The poor merchant never smiled anymore, not since his daughter had been accused of selling an enchanted apple to one of the guards the year before and had lost her head at Uther's behest.

"Which of us will be next?" That was the question she read in one pair of eyes after another, knowing it was mirrored in her own as she reached the palace and hurriedly ascended the steps. It wouldn't matter if there was no real culprit to be found; Uther would demand a blood price in exchange for the merest suggestion that someone had dared to use magic in his precious kingdom, and solid evidence would cease to matter if he had to wait for the vengeance he craved.

"Guinevere..."

Distracted by her troubled thoughts, she hadn't noticed Arthur until he was standing right in front of her, looking slightly uncomfortable as he always did whenever she was in his presence these days.

"Sire," she responded, as she dropped into a brief, yet respectful curtsy.

Arthur looked pained. "Guinevere, you know that's not necessary."

"Isn't it?" she questioned with a slight edge of sarcasm to her voice. "You've made it quite clear that..."

Gwen was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a throat being softly cleared at her back. "Sire," Sir Leon said apologetically, glancing briefly in her direction before focusing his full attention on Arthur. "Forgive the interruption, but the king requires your presence in the Council Chamber. Aredian is ready to present his findings."

"Of course," Arthur replied shortly, then turned and followed the knight without so much as a word of farewell.

 _Typical,_ she grumbled to herself as she continued along her way to Morgana's chamber. _Why should I be surprised? He's always been an arrogant..._

But Gwen never finished the thought as she reached her destination to discover a white faced Morgana, frantically wringing her hands as she paced back and forth across the room. Seemingly devoid of her usual grace, she bumped into her dressing table, barely reacting when a small bottle of perfume toppled over and fell to the floor with a crash.

"There you are!" she said a little breathlessly, reaching out to clutch Gwen's arm. Her hands were clammy, noticeably trembling in the few seconds before she remembered herself and let go. "Where have you been?"

Gwen stared at her, both in confusion and increasing worry. "My lady, you sent me to the lower town to see if there was any suitable fabric for a new gown. There wasn't, but the merchant said..."

"Of course," Morgana interrupted with a mirthless laugh. "I'm sorry, I just..."

"Morgana, is something wrong?"

"We're late, that's all," she replied stiffly. "I'm expected in the Council Chamber, so we best be on our way."

Morgana was curiously silent as they made their way through the corridors and into the crowded hall. Gwen wanted to believe it was merely anxiety over being late that had her behaving so strangely, but it became impossible to continue to think that when Uther waved away her apologies, treating her to a warm smile as she took her seat beside him.

Gwen watched her closely as the Witchfinder presented his witnesses, three peasant women who babbled about ghosts and goblins… and frogs, of all things. Morgana never seemed to relax; on the contrary, her face became more and more pale as she watched the proceedings with fear in her eyes.

Why? Was it nothing more than her usual distaste for the king's harsh policies regarding magic? Morgana had a compassionate soul and a strong sense of justice; she'd never reacted well to such things. But in the past, she'd always looked angry in such moments, never terrified, as if she herself was being accused.

No, Gwen had to be imagining things. Morgana, of all people? She was the king's ward, the last person who would take the enormous risk of meddling with magic. 

"My methods are infallible, my findings incontestable!" Aredian pronounced in a dramatic voice, clearly relishing his moment of triumph as the audience collectively held its breath. "The facts point to one person and one person alone... the boy, Merlin!"

There was a heavy pause before Arthur spoke. "Merlin?" he said in a skeptical voice that seemed to echo Gwen's own thoughts on the matter. "You can't be serious."

But it became abundantly clear this was no jest, as Merlin was restrained by the guards and Uther ordered a full search of his chambers. When the king called for dismissal immediately thereafter, Gwen trailed after Morgana in bewilderment, trying in vain to ignore the loud crashing sounds that echoed through the corridor as the physician's quarters were ripped apart.

"Merlin?" she questioned helplessly once they'd reached the safety of Morgana's rooms. "Clearly, the man is a phony. Who could possibly believe that Merlin..." and then she trailed off, as she looked into Morgana's face. Gone was the unnatural paleness she'd witnessed earlier, replaced by an expression that seemed almost... _relieved_.

No, she had to be mistaken. Morgana must only appear to have relaxed because she knew very well that no evidence would be found and that Merlin would be acquitted. Yes, that had to be it.

But then again, the king had executed people suspected of using magic based on far less than the word of a Witchfinder he obviously held in the highest esteem. Merlin could be in grave danger; would it be enough that Gaius and Arthur would surely vouch for his innocence?

Gwen wanted to discuss her concerns with Morgana, and hopefully receive some reassurance that there was nothing to worry about, but she was never given the chance. Throughout the remainder of the afternoon and well into the evening, she was sent on one errand after another, and in the end, she discovered that it was unnecessary to be concerned about Merlin's fate after all when she met him in the corridor. He looked a bit shaken, but obviously, the charges that had been leveled against him had come to nothing.

"Merlin!" she called out happily. "I knew they wouldn't find..."

"They've got Gaius," he interrupted in a shaky voice. "He's been taken to the dungeons for interrogation."

"Gaius?" she echoed vaguely. "But what evidence could they possibly have against _him?_ He's done nothing wrong; you know that as well as I do. Try not to worry, Merlin. I'm sure he'll be released and back in his own chambers before you know it. Uther wouldn't... no, it's absurd."

"Gwen, you don't understand."

She gave him a comforting smile. "I _do_ understand how much you care for him. We all do. I know it's frightening, but Gaius has served Uther for most of his life. Surely even the king will see the ridiculousness of these accusations."

"I hope you're right," Merlin said, suddenly looking beyond her as if there was somewhere else he desperately wanted to be. She bid him a hasty farewell, turning to watch curiously as he raced around the corner and disappeared.

It was only when she was walking home later that evening that an echo of Morgana's frantic words in the immediate wake of her nightmare flitted across her mind.

"I don't want Gaius to die. Please, he's just an old man."

No, it didn't mean... it _couldn't_ mean...

Throughout the following day, she resisted the urge to ask Morgana about the details of her dream once, twice, a dozen times. Over and over, she told herself she was just being silly; it was natural to worry over a person you cared for that was old and frail. She herself had often felt a great deal of concern when it seemed like Gaius was overworking himself or not getting the rest he needed.

Yes, it was only a coincidence, nothing more, and she was quite certain she could go on believing that as long as she didn't voice the question aloud.

Nonetheless, it became more and more difficult to ignore her fears when Gaius remained in the dungeons below, and Merlin wandered around with an increasingly frantic expression on his face. "Difficult" became downright impossible when the elderly physician finally prostrated himself before the king, confessing that he was indeed a sorcerer.

Gwen didn't believe it for a second. One look at Gaius told her that all the hushed whispers she'd heard among the palace staff were true; he'd clearly been subjected to torture, and the ordeal had obviously broken him to the point where he'd rather face the consequences than continue to protest his innocence.

But to her, it wasn't a question of guilt. It was the unmistakable connection between Morgana's dream and the increasing likelihood that it was about to come true. If it did, she'd be forced to face the reality of losing not just one, but _two_ people she cared for deeply. If Morgana's nightmares were indeed the product of foresight, after all, a gift that was intimately connected with the world of magic, how long could she possibly have before Uther discovered the truth and condemned her as a witch? He'd coldly ordered the execution of his oldest and dearest friend… could Morgana truly expect mercy at his hand?

Her fears increased as Aredian summoned the other woman down to the dungeons for questioning again, leaving her pale and shaken upon her return to her chambers.

"I don't know how much more I can take," she whispered in a muffled voice, as she sank down onto the bed and buried her face in her hands. "He's going to discover the truth anyway. I know he is. Maybe I should just tell him now and save myself the trouble."

Gwen sat down beside her and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Surely you've already told him you're innocent, Morgana. That's the only truth that matters. Uther will never convict you without evidence that doesn't exist. Not _you_ , Morgana. He cares for you too much."

Morgana let out a surprisingly bitter laugh. " _Truth?_ You don't know the truth, Gwen. No one does... but they will. And when they do, I'll be the next to meet my death upon that pyre."

"No," Gwen said harshly, unwilling to accept the idea that Morgana could be guilty of any crime that was worthy of execution. "You're reacting to the strain, that's all. This is what he _wants_. Can't you see that? Do you honestly think _Gaius_ is a sorcerer? Of course not! Aredian broke him down to the point where he was willing to say _anything_ to make it stop, and now he's trying to do the same to you. Morgana, don't let him..."

She trailed off as the other woman released a loud, shuddering breath.

"Gwen, I have magic. Stop pretending you haven't suspected it for quite some time."


	54. The Breaking Point

#  **Chapter 54: The Breaking Point**

* * *

For a few endless heartbeats, Gwen could only stare at Morgana in shock. And then she abruptly rose to her feet, hurrying over to scrub feverishly at a nonexistent smudge on the spotless window.

It was the wrong action to take, she realized, as her eyes drifted down to the courtyard where the workmen were hammering away at the pyre where a vengeful king fully intended for his oldest friend to suffer an agonizing death… all because he'd confessed under extreme duress to the crime of possessing magic. 

Magic... the same unforgivable trespass Morgana had admitted to just a moment before.

No, she wouldn't listen... not because she didn't recognize there must be some truth behind the words, but because she couldn't bear the thought of the consequences. No, now more than ever, it was crucial to keep it a secret, to never even speak of it aloud. Pretending it didn't exist was the only way to keep her safe.

"Gwen?" Morgana said nervously, rising from the bed and taking a tentative step toward the window where she stood. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

"What would you like me to say, my lady?" Gwen said with an air of forced courtesy meant to disguise her overwhelming fear. "I've already told you what I think. Aredian is putting a lot of pressure on you, trying to get you to confess and perhaps even to _believe_ things that just aren't true."

"Gwen, look at me."

Reluctantly, she turned to face a pair of wide, imploring eyes.

"Do you think I'm so weak, that I'd be broken after only being questioned a couple of times? I'm telling you, Gwen, _I have magic_. I've known for months now, long before we'd ever even heard of Aredian. It was confirmed for me by the Druids, but I suspected it even before then. I know it must come as a shock for me to say it outright like this, but you can't pretend that you never..."

"Stop it!" Gwen hissed furiously. "Stop saying things that can only condemn you! Whether what you say is true or not, we mustn't speak of it! Your innocence is your only protection, can't you see that?"

"Gwen, it isn't that easy," Morgana said quietly. "I can't just pretend it doesn't exist."

"Yes, you can. You _must_. Morgana, you know the consequences..."

Morgana stared out the window beyond her, a single tear trailing down her cheek as she studied the waiting pyre. "Better than anyone. But... but that doesn't change who I am."

"I know who you are," Gwen responded, feeling a wave of compassion for the gentle, spirited friend she'd always loved. Despite her best efforts to push the thought away, she imagined Uther raging with fury as he ordered Morgana's death, shuddering in revulsion as she pictured the terrified woman being lashed to that dreadful pyre. "I just can't bear the thought of you... I can't bear it."

Morgana's voice hitched on a ragged sob. "You can't even say it, can you?" she said bitterly. "The idea of me having magic is so repugnant to you that..."

But she never had a chance to finish the thought, as there was a soft, yet distinctive knock at the door. Hastily, she brushed away her tears and smoothed her hair, nodding imperceptibly to Gwen when she felt sufficiently prepared to greet the visitor.

Aredian strode into the chamber without so much as a passing glance at Gwen, practically smirking at Morgana's rigid back as he joined her at the window.

"Lady Morgana," he said, in a light, conversational tone that contradicted the almost predatory intensity in his eyes. "Forgive me for disturbing you at this late hour, but I'm afraid your presence is required for another round of questioning."

Unable to help herself, Gwen loudly cleared her throat. "Can't it wait until morning at least? It's nearly midnight, and as you can see, my mistress is exhausted."

"The war against sorcery waits for no one," he said sternly, still refusing to look in her direction. "Man or woman, poor or privileged, the foul stench of magic threatens to permeate this land. I'm sure you understand that we must act with the utmost urgency for even the smallest hope we might be able to hold it at bay. That is, of course, if you are on _our_ side."

She gasped as he finally turned to face her, fixing her with the coldest, most penetrating stare she'd ever encountered. Neither she or Morgana took a breath as the air in the room seemed to dissipate beneath the heavy silence.

"Well?" Aredian prompted mercilessly, the upturned corner of his mouth making it clear that he was aware of her fright and was quite enjoying the effect his intimidating presence was having on her.

"Of course," Gwen stammered out. "I-I've never wanted anything to do with magic. I wish it would disappear forever."

Aredian hesitated for a moment as if pondering the words, then gave a nod of satisfaction. "Yes, as do we all. But some of us have to work to make that happen, I'm sure you understand. Go home, you are dismissed."

Gwen opened her mouth, wanting to protest that it was only Morgana herself who had the power to dismiss her. But she thought better of it, dropping a brief curtsy as she mumbled a farewell in Morgana's direction. She tried not to notice the way the other woman refused to meet her eyes.

She kept her steps casual and unhurried until she rounded the corner and then she was off, racing through the corridors toward the only hope she might have of saving not only Gaius's life, but Morgana's as well.

* * *

Merlin suspected, just as she had, that Aredian gained his confessions through less than honorable means of coercion. But it wasn't until he mentioned the amulet, evidence which both Merlin and Gaius claimed they'd never seen before, that she began to realize the full extent of the Witchfinder's treachery.

It was unquestionable that Aredian was planting any number of items in order to condemn innocent people and receive a hefty payment in return. Not that it helped to know that; she despaired at first, particularly when Merlin optimistically (and somewhat foolishly) ventured off to investigate Aredian's chambers, returning with nothing more than a handful of dried flower petals.

But Merlin, bless his seemingly limitless determination, motivated them both to continue and ultimately succeed in their search, hours after Gwen had been ready to throw up her hands in surrender. They ran breathlessly through the deserted streets of Camelot in the dead of night soon thereafter, immensely relieved to finally have the proof they needed to save one innocent life and prevent the likely condemnation of another.

Aredian had forced the hapless apothecary to sell eyedrops that contained a tincture of belladonna, a substance known to cause hallucinations. That would account for the witnesses who'd claimed to see dancing goblins, mysterious faces in wells, and even frogs leaping from a sorcerer's mouth... but would the evidence be enough?

Gwen voiced this concern to Merlin, who immediately set off again without explaining his intentions. She had no choice but to put her trust in him and wait, anxiously pacing back and forth across the empty physician's chamber until the light of the early morning sun began to spill over the horizon.

As worried as she was over Gaius's fate, her thoughts returned again and again to Morgana. Saving Gaius's life would mean rescuing an innocent man from a slow and terrible death, but it also signified something else. Not only would Morgana be free from danger if Aredian were exposed as a fraud, but it would also prove that her nightmares were nothing more than dreams. After all, if it had indeed been a prophecy when she'd envisioned Gaius's death, wouldn't it come true?

She wasn't well-informed on the intricacies of foretelling, of course, but the theory made sense to her, and so she accepted it.

And then she watched from the window with a chill in the pit of her stomach as Gaius was led out into the sunlight in that hideous cage, clad in nothing more than a filthy nightshirt as he squinted his eyes against the glaring sunlight. Never had he looked more harmless, nor had Gwen ever realized just how much she cared for him than she did as she studied the expression of grim resignation on his gentle, careworn features.

No... no, this couldn't be happening. She _hated_ Uther in that moment, perhaps even more than she had when he'd condemned her own father to die for a crime he hadn't committed. At least Tom had been a stranger to the king; what kind of monster could do this to a man he claimed to _love?_

"Merlin!" she shrieked, on the edge of hysteria by the time he finally burst through the door. "Where have you been?!"

"It's done," he told her breathlessly. "Everything's in place."

"But it's too late! Gaius has already left the dungeons!"

"Then we'll have to delay the execution," he responded matter-of-factly.

"How?"

"Arthur. I'll speak to Arthur."

Suddenly, she felt ashamed that she hadn't even considered that option. Arthur wouldn't allow this to happen; she knew it deep in her heart with that same quiet faith she'd always had in his goodness. Her discomfort toward him for personal reasons in recent times had blinded her to the strength of the ruler she still believed he was destined to be.

"No," she said firmly. "Leave Arthur to me."

* * *

Gwen pushed her way through the tightly packed crowd, wondering as she always did why the citizens of Camelot were so eager to witness an execution. She shied away from such things herself, shuttering the windows in her own home or in Morgana's chambers to avoid the brutal scenes.

But she didn't have that luxury now; for good or ill, she had to at least _try_ and reach Arthur before it was too late.

"Arthur!" she panted breathlessly, desperate to make herself heard above the roaring crowd. "Arthur!"

"Arthur!" she gasped a final time as she finally reached him. "You've got to stop this!"

"I can't, Gwen," he said gently, his blue eyes full of sad acceptance. "You know I can't."

"Merlin has proof that Gaius is innocent!"

"My father's already passed sentence. There's nothing I can do."

"You can do the right thing!" she raged, never stopping to think about the repercussions of speaking to him in such a manner as she would've in the past. "You can show some faith in a loyal friend, or you can stand by and watch an innocent man die!"

"Guinevere..."

No, she'd known what it was to feel helpless once before, unable to save a man she loved from the king's tyranny. She hadn't been bold enough back then to fight as much as she should have, and that would be a regret she'd carry for the rest of her life.

Too late... far too late to change what had happened to Tom. But Gaius was still alive, and she refused to step aside simply because Arthur was afraid to defy his father. One look in his eyes told her he believed in Gaius's innocence, and that was enough for her to blurt out the hard, yet unavoidable truth she knew as well as he did.

"You did it once before to my father. Are you really willing to let it happen again?" He looked stunned by her outburst, which only drove her to continue with her tirade. "And you can stop looking at me like that! I know I'm only a servant! I thought you were a prince, so start behaving like one!"

A sudden hush fell over the excited crowd; Gwen sucked in a deep breath as Aredian lowered the flaming torch to the pile of tinder that surrounded the old man's feet. One heartbeat, and then another... in just a few more seconds, Gaius would be beyond help.

"Wait," Arthur said, his voice filled with authority as it echoed through the silent courtyard.

* * *

No more than an hour later, Aredian had been exposed as a fraud, and the wrongly accused had been fully acquitted. The whole of Camelot seemed to breathe again, though there was quite a bit of gossip on the streets as to how the former Witchfinder had met such an abrupt and untimely end.

Some claimed that Uther himself had run him through in a moment of rage at his deception; others insisted that Arthur had quietly disposed of him when everyone else had left the room. Gwen even heard a rumor that Gaius himself had suddenly rallied, calling him a name so foul she wouldn't even allow herself to think it as he'd shoved the man through the window.

None of these stories were true, of course. Aredian had indeed fallen to his death, but his own clumsiness had been what sealed his fate, not outside interference.

Exhausted from her sleepless night and the day's strain, she wandered aimlessly home. She'd offered to stay with Morgana that night, realizing the other woman was still shaken from the trials she'd had to endure. Morgana had dismissed her rather abruptly, however, insisting she wanted to be alone. Gwen understood, or at least, she thought she did; the previous few days had been hard on them all, particularly those who'd been under suspicion.

Smiling to herself, she realized she'd been right, not just on one count, but regarding many things. Her theory about Aredian's falsehood had proven correct, Arthur had once again justified her faith in his good heart, and most of all, Morgana's nightmare had been just that... merely an unpleasant dream that held no hint of magic or prophecy.

In no time at all, life would go back to normal, and the effects of this unpleasant episode would be behind them forever.

She tried to reassure herself of that anyway, choosing to ignore the distance she'd seen in Morgana's eyes, and the hint of coldness that had never been in her voice before. It was only the shock of her ordeal that made it seem as if an invisible wall had been erected between them, one that would surely melt away in time.

But as the weeks passed, the wall stayed firmly in place. Morgana treated her as courteously as ever, but the intimacy that had once existed between them seemed to dissipate, leaving nothing but empty words in its wake. Confidences, even those as simple as which new knight Morgana found attractive or some harmless tidbit of gossip she'd heard among the courtiers, became a thing of the past. Gwen merely showed up for work, performed her duties and was politely dismissed.

She wanted to ask what had changed their relationship so drastically, but deep in her heart, she already knew the truth. The truth was magic... or more accurately, her reaction to it, regardless of whether or not the magic itself had been real or imagined. How could she hope to repair the damage, without broaching the terrifying subject that must remain untouched as long as it posed even the slightest threat to Morgana's life?

At first, she struggled to find an answer, but in the end, it was easiest to ignore a reality she still wasn't prepared to acknowledge... not out of fear for herself, but out of concern for the friend she dearly loved.

And so, she said nothing.


	55. Lessons of Combat

#  **Chapter 55: Lessons of Combat**

* * *

Lancelot sat on a fallen log just a few paces from the campsite, placidly scraping blade against whetstone as he hummed quietly to himself. He paused to test the sharpness of the shining metal against his thumb from time to time, smiling in satisfaction at his progress before resuming the soothing, repetitive motions.

"Miss it, don't you?"

He looked up to find Gwaine staring down at him with a quizzical expression on his face, having just returned from hunting with a pair of plump, freshly killed rabbits dangling from one fist.

"I do," he admitted softly, running his fingers almost tenderly over the perfectly honed blade before slipping the sword back in its scabbard.

Life had been peaceful during the months he'd spent in Gwaine's company, far more secure than any other time he could recall. Work was plentiful and even pleasant; both men went to bed each night with full bellies and gold in their pockets, and not once had they encountered any serious threat to their safety. Even the occasional tavern patron Gwaine unwittingly offended was quickly soothed with a few charming words, making sure that petty disagreements never resorted to violence.

Lancelot knew he should be content, especially after the turmoil he'd gone through in the first couple years after his departure from Camelot. He should be glad not to have to look over his shoulder all the time, happy to have the companionship of a trusted friend, satisfied that he was healthy and well fed.

And in many ways, he _was_ grateful. But it was becoming difficult to ignore the growing sense of restlessness that plagued his spirit. The yearning was never quieted by their endless wanderings anymore, nor could he exhaust himself enough through hard labor to drive away the pressing need to find a greater purpose for himself... something more fulfilling than the peaceful life of a laborer that satisfied his immediate needs, yet stirred none of his passion.

The only thing that brought him a small measure of relief these days was his habit of awakening in the cold, gray hours before dawn, relishing the familiar sensation of solid metal in his hand as he resumed his former training routines.

There were only two things that had ever truly felt _right_ to Lancelot – instinctive, predestined, as if he'd been born with no other purpose but to devote his life to them. One of those had been his love for Guinevere, of course, and the other was his passion for the art of combat, the eternal hunger to fight, protect, and defend.

He'd assumed Gwaine was unaware of his early morning activities; after all, the other man would gladly sleep until noon whenever he could get away with it. It wasn't that Lancelot felt he had to hide it, necessarily, but he hadn't wanted to make it seem as if he were dissatisfied with his current life either... especially since he probably wouldn't be alive at all if Gwaine hadn't cared for him so diligently during his illness.

"I thought so," Gwaine nodded sagely as he squatted down beside the fire and removed a dagger from his boot. He whittled a makeshift spit with a series of deft motions, then set about the task of skinning the rabbits, not speaking again until each was seasoned, spitted, and set above the crackling wood to roast. "Can't say I blame you either. I miss it, too."

Lancelot looked up at him in surprise. Like most men, Gwaine carried a sword at his hip as a means of protection, but Lancelot had never seen him wield it. He seemed largely uninterested in combat; indeed, he devoted most of his energies to his next tankard of ale and finding a willing woman to charm.

Gwaine was strong, of course, the effortless way he breezed through hard labor long after most men would've dropped from exhaustion had proven that. But _swordplay?_ He'd never mentioned anything about it, leading Lancelot to assume his distaste for the life of a knight extended to the craft that was usually honed and dedicated to that kind of service.

"You seem surprised."

Lancelot hesitated, not wanting to cause offense. "I just... you've never spoken of it, that's all."

"Neither have you," Gwaine pointed out with an ironic smile. "Well, not since that night I won the wager, and that was months ago. As for me, I figured you needed time to recover after everything you'd been through, so I thought I'd keep the excitement to a minimum for your sake."

"For _my_ sake?" he echoed vaguely. "But I never asked... I didn't want..."

Gwaine silenced him with a searching look. "You needed it," he said firmly. "Maybe you can't see that for yourself, but you did. You might not appreciate me figuring that out for you, but you have to admit you're a different man than you were on the night we met. And only for the better from what I can see."

He frowned as he considered the words. It was true that he was becoming bored and restless with his placid life, forever craving the feeling of a sword in his hand rather than a hammer or a shovel. He still missed Gwen desperately, and rarely did he pass a night without dreaming of her face, or awaken the following morning to wonder for the thousandth time if he'd done the right thing by leaving her.

But the hollow desperation that had marked his existence for as long as he could remember didn't plague him the way it once had. His days were no longer filled with thoughts of failure, forever doubtful that he'd even survive to see another sunrise. The persistent feelings of inadequacy that had once dominated his existence were fading, replaced by a whisper of confidence that was growing stronger as life stopped giving him so many reasons to doubt himself.

He'd wanted to be a knight, believing his skill at the art of combat was the only thing he had to offer. And when that had come to nothing, he'd naturally assumed himself incapable of doing anything else, which had left him at a great disadvantage when considering other options. Deep in his heart, he now knew that his lack of belief in his own ability to survive without a sword in his hand had been the cause of a great deal of suffering in his life.

If Gwaine hadn't intervened, showing him there was another way, would he have given himself the chance to prove himself useful at other endeavors when necessary... as a craftsman, a merchant, or even a common laborer?

No, he realized with a quiet sense of shame. As much as he hated to admit it, he probably would've thrown up his hands in defeat just as he had before, when hunger had gnawed at his belly and despair lay heavy upon his shoulders. He would've returned to the harsh life of mercenary fighting he despised, unable to see any other path for himself.

Devoting every waking moment to the art of combat during his youth had benefited him immensely when it came to his abilities as a fighter, but in return, he'd paid a heavy price. He'd never learned to survive by other means, too consumed by a single ambition during the years when other boys were developing a variety of skills. It was never that he'd been incapable of those things, he just hadn't tried… not until Gwaine had decided he needed a break from the only thing he knew how to do.

It was one of those times when Lancelot found himself staring at his friend in quiet amazement. Had he been perceptive enough to realize all of this, back when they'd been little more than strangers? More than that, had it been nothing more than a happy coincidence that Lancelot had benefited so much through his efforts, or had Gwaine anticipated the outcome all along?

As always, when Gwaine became aware of Lancelot's suspicion that there was a great deal more to him than his normally carefree manner let on, he shifted uncomfortably and immediately diverted his attention elsewhere.

"We'll find us a good fight soon enough, don't you worry!" he announced cheerily, jarring Lancelot with a hearty thump to the back as he rose and stepped away to check on their supper. "In the meantime, let's eat!"

* * *

Gwaine proved to be a man of his word the following morning, waiting on a stump in the middle of the clearing with his sword resting across his knees. He let loose a huge yawn, then smirked lazily in response to Lancelot's obvious surprise.

"Thought I didn't know, eh?" he chuckled, his voice still husky from sleep. "Slicing at empty air might not make a lot of noise, but the same can't be said for all that grunting you do when you're facing your invisible foes. I only hope I can prove to be as challenging as they are."

Lancelot just shook his head and smiled as Gwaine rose to his feet and unsheathed his sword, moving into a familiar sparring position as they stared at one another with a gleam of excitement in their eyes.

"You first," Lancelot said graciously, reminding himself to go easy on the other man. Gwaine might be strong, but he obviously didn't possess Lancelot's years of training and carefully studied techniques, and...

CRASH!

The other blade connected with his own with a deafening impact, a lightning swift, unanticipated blow he'd only barely managed to block. Gwaine never gave him the chance to recover from his surprise, twisting and turning with the grace of a dancer as he met Lancelot swing for swing and thrust for thrust. Driven by raw instinct, he was a fearless opponent, with an uncanny ability to sense Lancelot's next move before he'd even thought of it himself.

His swiftness was extraordinary, and Lancelot only managed to match his considerable strength with a great deal of effort. And as the fight continued, his stamina also proved to be far beyond what one might expect from any ordinary combatant.

Lancelot was amazed; it was only the singular focus that overtook his senses when an opponent stood before him that prevented him from dropping his sword right then and there to ask Gwaine exactly how in the hell he'd come by such incredible skill.

In the end, it was Lancelot who triumphed, taking advantage of the tiny opening Gwaine provided for no more than the blink of an eye to disarm him. And then the two men sank heavily to the ground, both exhausted and drenched in sweat in the aftermath of a far greater challenge than either had expected.

"Impressive," Gwaine panted heavily, staring at Lancelot with a newfound respect in his eyes. "Very impressive."

"You too," he responded, the harsh rasp in his voice doing nothing to disguise the sincerity of his words.

"I don't think I've ever faced a better opponent."

"Same."

Gwaine chuckled as he wiped the sweat from his brow. "But you defeated me."

"Not by much."

"True," he happily conceded. "What do you say to a nice, cold swim, eh?"

There was a bite to the early autumn air, but neither man noticed as they stripped off their sweat dampened clothing and plunged into the cool waters of a nearby lake. The fresh morning breeze was invigorating against their wet skin, reviving them both after their exertions. It wasn't until they stood shivering on the shore in the aftermath of their swim that they realized their mistake.

"F-fire," Gwaine gasped between chattering teeth. "Big fire."

Lancelot could only nod in response and then they were off, not even bothering to stop and dress as they streaked through the trees in the direction of blankets, fire, and much-needed warmth.

"Needs more wood," Gwaine grumbled a few minutes later, feeding another log to the already towering blaze. "I'm still freezing my balls off."

"S-so am I," Lancelot admitted as he inched closer to the flames, trying to determine how much further he could advance without burning himself. "B-but do you really think it's a good idea to make it any bigger? We don't want to attract any unwanted attention."

Gwaine chuckled as he shoved another stick into the flaming pile. "Who are you worried about, exactly? Have you seen me fight? Have you seen _yourself_ fight? I don't think we have much to be concerned about, my friend."

"Speaking of that," Lancelot said suddenly, his voice muffled as he pulled a clean shirt over his head. "Where did you come by such skill? How did you learn?"

"Same as you did, I expect. I trained."

"But I thought you hated all of that. Soldiering, a life of service... you said you wanted no part of it."

Gwaine shook his head and smirked. "Had nothing to do with being a soldier. I was the man of the house, with a mother and sister to protect... though I'm not quite sure why I bothered with the latter, to tell you the truth."

Lancelot studied his face through the flames. "That was very honorable of you."

"Sensible, not honorable," Gwaine immediately corrected. "I had an obligation to my family, whether I chose it for myself or not. Might as well have done the best I could with it, don't you think?"

"Perhaps," Lancelot responded slowly as he pondered the words. "But I still think it was an honorable thing to do."

Gwaine shook his head in defeat, then smiled. "You're probably right. It's just the words... honor, nobility, loyalty, all those pretty phrases that kings and high lords like to throw around, never understanding what they really mean. Look at yourself, for example. Probably the most honorable man I've ever known, and you've spent your whole damn life trying to achieve something you were obviously born with."

Lancelot opened his mouth and closed it again, too touched by Gwaine's exceedingly kind assessment of his character to think of a proper response.

"Noble, too," Gwaine added, grinning in amusement at his flattered discomfort. " _Incredibly_ noble. In fact..." he continued, furrowing his brow in mock thoughtfulness as he considered Lancelot's expression of growing embarrassment. "You're far more noble than any so-called king I can think of. How about we find a kingdom to usurp, eh? Put you on the throne?"

"Now you're just being ridiculous," Lancelot said stiffly.

" _King_ Lancelot!" Gwaine proclaimed in a ringing voice. Not seeming to care that he was still stark naked, he rose to his feet and bowed with a flourish, pausing to take a long drink from the flask of ale he suddenly remembered and retrieved from his pack with all due haste. "Long may he reign!"

Between Gwaine's dramatic declarations of undying fealty and Lancelot's futile attempts to put an end to the awkward scene, neither of them heard the quiet footsteps of the woman as she approached their campsite. It was only when she cleared her throat, her bewildered eyes darting back and forth from Gwaine's exposed backside to Lancelot's red face, that they both became aware of her presence.

"Lancelot!" she exclaimed, after taking a moment to recover from her initial surprise.

Without another word, she marched straight over to where he sat beside the fire. Drawing her foot back, she kicked him hard.


	56. Stolen Pleasures

#  **Chapter 56: Stolen Pleasures**

* * *

Lancelot grunted in surprised pain as the blow connected with his shin, barely managing to avoid a second kick by scooting back a few inches and quickly rising to his feet.

"Serves you right," she sniffed haughtily, staring up at him without a trace of fear in her wide gray eyes. "Haven't heard from you since..."

"Who are you?" Gwaine suddenly interrupted, his voice filled with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

"Gwaine," Lancelot said, grimacing slightly as he reached down to rub his injured leg. "Allow me to introduce you to Millie."

"Millie, eh?" the other man took a step closer, not seeming to realize he was still naked as he gave her an appraising look. "And how do you two know each other?"

"Just an old friend," Lancelot started a little awkwardly. "We..."

"We used to fuck like rabbits," Millie finished for him with a satisfied smile.

He cringed in embarrassment as Gwaine let out a loud chuckle. "Can't say I blame you there, my friend, I've always had a bit of a soft spot for redheads myself, especially..."

Millie's eyes traveled down his bare chest and passed over the thin trail of hair below his navel, coming to rest between his thighs. "Not the only thing soft about you from what I can see," she said with a devious smirk.

Rather than being offended, Gwaine laughed outright. "Heartless," he commented as he casually reached for a pair of trousers.

Millie ignored him, returning her full attention to Lancelot as an expression of renewed fury appeared on her face. "Where have you been?" she demanded indignantly. "Why haven't you sent word? I thought you were dead, you know, but that clearly isn't the case. Well, not yet, anyway."

He shifted uncomfortably, at a loss for how to explain his negligence. It would've been nice to have some valid excuse to give, but the truth was, he'd forgotten all about Millie and his obligation to her from the moment he'd seen Gwen again. She was a relic from his previous existence, a life of shame and dishonor, a dismal time during which he'd barely recognized himself. It had been easy to leave it all behind when Gwen had restored his faith, and Gwaine had given him a chance at an honest living that _hadn't_ required compromising everything he believed in order to survive.

With a great deal of guilt, he reminded himself that she was a living, breathing person, not an intangible memory. She hadn't stopped having needs simply because he'd moved on with his life. He'd promised to take care of her, to send gold every few weeks so she'd have food and shelter, and he'd failed to keep his word. She had every reason to be angry.

But she didn't appear as if she'd suffered the pains of deprivation as she stood there fuming. On the contrary, the hollows in her cheeks had filled out, highlighting a face that was now plump and rosy rather than the thin, sallow features he remembered. Her eyes were alert and fearless, no longer filled with the weary resignation that had been a constant during their shared captivity. The long red hair that had once framed her face in limp, lusterless tangles was now clean and well groomed, shining like a newly minted copper coin in the afternoon sunlight.

Even her body had changed tremendously, unnatural thinness replaced by soft curves that were displayed to a flattering advantage in a clean, decently tailored dress that fit her perfectly, rather than the shapeless gray rags she'd once worn.

Lancelot had always found something appealing about her appearance, but it was with a great deal of surprise that he realized that the woman who stood before him, healthy and well cared for, was quite beautiful.

Gwaine seemed to agree wholeheartedly with this assessment. He couldn't take his eyes off Millie as she glared at Lancelot, waiting impatiently for his response.

"Well?"

"I'm sorry," he told her again, holding his hands out in a gesture of surrender. "A lot has happened since I last saw you, and... well, I'm sorry. I promised to provide for your needs, and I failed in that. There's nothing I can say to..."

Millie cut him off with an exasperated sigh. "I don't care about the gold. It didn't take me long to figure out that I'm perfectly capable of earning my own way, thank you very much. But you still should have sent word. I thought we were friends, Lancelot, after everything. I wasn't expecting anything more from you, so if you were worried about that..."

"No, that's not it. I just... I'm sorry. You're right. I should have, and I didn't."

"Well, I guess there's nothing to be done about it now," she said, giving him a sullen look. "Just don't let it happen again. The next time, I'll do more than just kick you. I can promise you that."

Trying to be discreet and failing, Gwaine cleared his throat rather awkwardly. "I'm sorry to disturb either of you in the middle of this touching scene, but I'm starving. Thought I'd go find us something to eat. Will our guest be staying for supper?"

Millie appeared to be taken aback for a fleeting moment, but then quickly recovered. "No," she said shortly. "I need to be getting back to the tavern. Cook will be wondering where I am with these." She paused, holding up a sack of berries Lancelot hadn't noticed until that moment. "Said I'd have to pick them myself if I wanted tarts tonight. But the two of you can come along; I'm sure Nessie would be happy to see you, Lancelot."

"Tavern?" Gwaine echoed, his eyes alighting with interest.

Lancelot stared at her in surprise. "Then we must be close to..."

"Oakview," she confirmed with a curt nod. Without another word, she turned and strode away.

* * *

"Millie never said she had a younger sister," Gwaine said flirtatiously, bending over the older woman's hand and pressing a lingering kiss to the backs of her fingers. Nessie looked flustered as she quickly drew it away, nervously fiddling with the untidy wisps of faded blonde hair that had escaped her messy braid. And then she remembered herself, shaking her head with an indelicate snort of derision.

"Don't even try that with me, boy. I'm old enough to be your mother and we both know it. Now go find yourselves a table; Millie will be with you shortly. I'm afraid I don't have time to talk just now, but it's good to see you, Lancelot. As ugly as ever, of course, but you look well."

Gwaine smirked at him as they sat down at the only empty table, tucked away in the back corner of the room. Lancelot didn't notice the other man's amusement, however; he was too busy looking around the inn in amazement. Gone was the humble place he remembered, a worn down, barely inhabited dwelling that would have been lucky to serve even a small handful of patrons on a good day.

From the freshly scrubbed tables to the clean, whitewashed walls, _The Sleeping Goat_ was almost unrecognizable. The tightly packed room was warm, filled with the fragrances of wood smoke and roasted meat as the inhabitants raised toasts to one another, filling the atmosphere with the sounds of hearty laughter and pleasant conversation.

He was at a loss to figure out how the place had changed so much during his absence; after all, it had been less than a year since the last time he'd visited. But then Millie reappeared and he began to understand.

She breezed through the front door with just a hint of a mischievous smile playing about her lips, clad in a different dress than the one she'd been wearing when they'd met her in the forest. Crafted from some wispy blue material that clung to her like a second skin, the bodice dipped dangerously low, her breasts threatening to spill over if she leaned forward even a few inches.

After a few calculated seconds, she sashayed across the room, seeming to sense the rapt gaze of every man who watched her progress as she added an extra sway to her hips. Bending down to murmur directly in their ears wasn't necessary; a definite hush had descended upon the previously boisterous crowd upon the moment of her arrival. But she did it nonetheless, asking each customer what he needed with sweetly appealing eyes.

When she finally reached Lancelot and Gwaine, her face turned safely away from the other patrons, she treated them both to an ironic smirk. "What can I get for you?"

"Your hand in marriage, sweet lady," Gwaine declared passionately. "And a couple of tankards of mead, if it wouldn't be too much trouble."

Millie snorted, careful to disguise the sound as a delicate cough when another customer passed their table. "I was proposed to three times on my way over here," she said with a satisfied grin. "Try something better next time."

Gwaine let out a low whistle as she turned and walked away, only returning his attention to Lancelot when she'd disappeared into the kitchen. "You and her," he started, seeming flustered. "You really..."

"Yes," Lancelot said quietly, realizing there was no point in denying it. "But that was more than a year ago. It doesn't matter now."

"Do you still have feelings for her?"

"No. I never did, to tell you the truth. She was just..."

"A warm place to stick it?" Gwaine helpfully supplied.

Lancelot cringed at the choice of words, but then he nodded. "I never felt good about it, but..."

"But even you can be human on occasion. Good to know. But if it didn't mean anything..."

"You're curious as to why I was sending her money," he guessed, not surprised in the least when Gwaine nodded. "I helped her out of a difficult situation, that's all. I wanted to make sure she'd be all right."

"So you don't mind if I...?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

When Millie returned with their drinks, Lancelot studied her with detached curiosity, finding it difficult to remember ever having been intimate with her. She was beautiful, of course, but the faint stirrings of desire he felt as he glanced at the breasts that were straining against the flimsy fabric of her dress were purely physical. It was as it had always been – a mindless craving, nothing more.

In the past, he might have submitted to it all over again, but something had changed in him during his all too brief time with Gwen. After what had passed between them on that final night, what had very nearly happened as she'd lain half naked in his arms, he simply couldn't imagine being in that position with anyone else.

And so he turned away from her, away from the feeble temptation she offered, silently giving Gwaine his blessing as the other man devoted his energies to a complete and thorough seduction. He hit her with an onslaught of carefully chosen words and charming gestures that even Millie, for all her stubbornness, eventually couldn't resist.

It was well after midnight when the last of the other customers had finally stumbled upstairs or staggered outside to sleep elsewhere. Off duty at last, Millie had settled herself comfortably on Gwaine's lap, not bothering to ask permission before drinking from his tankard as she related entertaining stories about her more colorful patrons. Before long, however, they were lost in a passionate, seemingly endless kiss as Lancelot shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to focus his attention on _anything_ aside from what was swiftly turning into a groping session right across the table.

"There aren't any vacant rooms," he heard Millie murmur huskily as he carefully studied a ring of condensation on the table. "But if you'd like to come home with me..."

He glanced up, shocked to see her straddling Gwaine with her skirt hitched up almost to her waist as she rocked her hips against him in a suggestive rhythm. Gwaine's mouth was latched firmly on an exposed nipple, his voice muffled as he let out what was clearly a groan of assent.

It wasn't until Millie rose to her feet and straightened her dress, leaving Gwaine to fumble with the ties of his partially unlaced trousers, that the other man seemed to remember Lancelot's presence. Heady with lust and too much mead, he waved a clumsy hand somewhat vaguely in his direction. "What about him?"

"It's all right. I can just return to our campsite and sleep there. I don't mind..."

Millie rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. There's plenty of room for both of you, and besides, it's pouring outside. Come on. I'm ready for bed."

"Me too," Gwaine said enthusiastically as they followed her across the tavern. 

And then Lancelot was forced to wait again as his friend suddenly pinned her against the door, ravishing her with a long, sloppy kiss as his hand slid down to cup her backside. He ground his hips against her with a groan that was so needful, so hungry, that Lancelot felt himself grow hard in sympathy.

But they finally made their way outside, racing through the frigid downpour with Lancelot silently hoping Millie lived close to the tavern. Unfortunately, her home was located several streets away; they were drenched to the bone by the time they burst through the door of the tiny cottage.

"F-fire," she said between chattering teeth, waving a hand vaguely in the direction of the small hearth. "B-blankets are in that cupboard next to the window. M-make yourself comfortable, Lancelot, and be sure to get out of those wet clothes. We don't need anyone getting sick around here."

Without another word, Millie and Gwaine disappeared into the other room, slamming the door behind them.

He heard a low giggle, followed by the sodden thump of wet clothes hitting the floor, and then the creak of a bed frame as a pair of bodies fell heavily across the mattress. He shook his head with a rueful smile, quickly lighting a fire before stripping off his own soaked garments and laying them out to dry.

The room was simple, yet clean; there was a small kitchen area, a roughly hewn table with a couple of chairs, several cabinets, and a thick rag rug that lay in front of the hearth. Lancelot retrieved a blanket and settled himself on the floor, soon growing drowsy as the comforting warmth began to steal over his bare flesh. The crackling fire, mingled with the steady, rhythmic pounding of rain on the thatched roof was infinitely soothing; he might have fallen asleep right then if it hadn't been for the noises that began to emerge from behind the closed door.

It began with a sharp, feminine gasp, followed by a grunt of satisfaction, a clear indication that Gwaine had just penetrated her for the first time. This was confirmed by the faint vibrations of the floorboards, the subtle squeak of the bed frame, the cadence of the soft, hungry moans that reached Lancelot's ears.

He grew hard all over again, aching with need as he clenched his fists against his naked thighs, resisting the overwhelming urge to touch himself. And yet why shouldn't he? He was alone, after all.

With a sigh of defeat that quickly turned into a groan of pleasure, he reached beneath the blanket to stroke himself, moving his fist up and down in time with the rhythm that was slowly building on the other side of the wall. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes drifted closed, sweat beading his forehead as he surrendered to the cravings he couldn't ignore. He didn't want to be Gwaine in that room with Millie. No, he had no desire for her in particular. He just wanted... _needed..._

They were picking up speed now, their pace swift and savage as it pulsed through the floorboards beneath his own straining body. Harsh grunts echoed off the walls, mingling with sobs of pleasure... noises of wild abandon he shamelessly responded to with his own soft pants and ragged groans.

And then reality ceased to exist, their sounds of passion becoming nothing more than the backdrop to a vividly realistic picture of Gwen lying beneath him as he drove into her with the same frantic rhythm that rocked through the tiny house. When the breathless little cry reached his ears, a desperate plea for "More!" he stroked himself faster, harder, hearing the word not from behind a closed door, but whispered from the lips that floated like a vision behind his tightly closed eyes.

Gwen's lips... he remembered their softness as he dreamed of ravishing them with his own. Deep, hungry kisses, devouring her gasps of pleasure, then moving to her neck, the curve of her shoulder, any expanse of flesh his searching mouth could possibly reach. The rhythm pounded through his body, primal and instinctive, as he envisioned Gwen with her head thrown back, tousled curls spilling wildly across the ground as she gazed up at him through heavy lidded eyes, soft and hazy with passion.

When the moment finally came, he was so lost to his fantasy that he could almost feel his phantom lover trembling with the sheer force of her need. Cries of helpless abandon trailed off into a loud, ragged whimper as he imagined her trembling body gripping him more tightly, drawing him in, pulsing around him with waves of pure ecstasy, pushing him over the edge until he lost all control and found his own powerful release.

Lancelot was dimly aware that his loud, shuddering gasps were echoed by a shout of triumph on the other side of the wall, but it was only in the aftermath, sweat drenched and panting as he lay alone in front of the fire, that reality came rushing back. But try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to feel embarrassed about what he'd just done... the intense feeling of relief was too overpowering to waste much thought on anything beyond the desire to close his eyes and drift off to sleep.

As always, it was her face that followed him into the land of dreams.


	57. Prelude to Change

#  **Chapter 57: Prelude to Change**

* * *

Lancelot awoke just before sunrise, letting out a muffled groan that was echoed by a series of far more enthusiastic noises on the other side of the wall. _Again?!_ It was the third, perhaps even the fourth time in just a few short hours; he was at a loss to figure out how either of them still had the energy to keep going when they obviously hadn't slept at all.

He sat up and winced as a sharp pain shot through his head, promising himself for the hundredth time he'd never drink again as he rubbed his bleary eyes and reached for his trousers.

The morning breeze was cool when he stepped outside, fresh and fragrant in the aftermath of the previous night's storm. The muddy streets of the small village were still mostly deserted, but he smiled politely as he passed a pair of sweet faced young milkmaids, then murmured a quiet "good morning" to an elderly man who was sweeping his front stoop.

It occurred to him to make his way to the woods and practice a bit of swordplay as he usually did in the mornings, but he was just too tired to bother. Instead, he headed straight to the inn, his stomach giving an audible growl in response to the tantalizing odor of bacon that drifted from the open windows.

"There you are, Lancelot!" Nessie called cheerfully, wiping her hands on her apron as she hurried over to greet him. "You want some breakfast? Silly question, of course you do. Go find yourself a table and I'll be back before you know it."

Far from the bustling crowd of the previous evening, the inn was almost deserted. There were a couple of groggy looking farmers at a table in the corner, their heads bent in quiet conversation as they sipped from their tankards, but other than that, the place was empty. Lancelot chose a table beside the window, then smiled as Nessie returned with large platter of bacon, eggs, sausages, and fresh baked bread.

"That's very kind of you," he said sincerely, watching as she placed the food in front of him with a flourish.

She sniffed. "Customers pay for food, I bring it. Don't see what's so kind about that."

He tried to hide a smile as she sat down across from him, remembering all too well how awkward she could be when it came to receiving compliments. At that thought, he decided to give her another.

"There's been a lot of improvement around here. You've been working hard."

"Hardly working is more like it," she responded with a grin. "And much of that is thanks to you."

Lancelot stared at her in bewilderment. "Me?"

"Of course. I'm working half as long for twice as much now that I have Millie around. Oh, I'll admit she was a handful at first, sitting around here all sullen, refusing to do anything but wait for those coins you were sending so she could spend them on useless things. Would've put her out right then and there if I hadn't given you my word, but I'm glad I didn't."

"I'm sorry, I..."

"Now, don't start with the apologies. Eat your food and listen. Whatever your reason, the best thing you ever did for that girl was when you stopped sending that gold. She didn't need to be taken care of; what she needed was to learn how to fend for herself. A girl like that, what she's been through… feels helpless enough already without a man treating her like it's true."

"But I still..."

"No woman wants a man deciding what's best for her," Nessie interrupted, staring pointedly at the plate in front of him before she continued. "Likes to feel she's capable of thinking for herself, believe it or not. Oh, I know your intentions were good when you brought her here, but you never gave her a choice in the matter either. Isn't a woman alive who won't resent a man for that."

An image suddenly flashed in Lancelot's mind, not of Millie, but of Gwen. Stubbornly, he pushed it away.

"Even if that's true, I still failed to keep my word to you," he said quietly. "I promised that if you took her in..."

Nessie snorted. "And you think I was foolish enough to expect you to follow through on that promise? Now, don't look at me like that. I'm not questioning your integrity. No doubt you meant every word at the time. But no man has it in him to stay beholden to a woman he cares nothing about, to keep her in his thoughts when life moves on without her. It's just not in your nature."

"But if you knew that..."

The unspoken question hung heavy in the air between them, making Nessie squirm uncomfortably in her seat. Her soft heart had compelled her to take Millie in and they both knew it… just as they knew it had everything to do with the genuine affection she harbored for Lancelot beneath her gruff exterior. It had never been a matter of gold, even if she'd pretended otherwise at the time.

Mercifully, he let the awkward moment pass, switching to a safer line of questioning. "So what happened after...?"

Nessie grinned at the memory as she spoke. "Told the miserable ingrate she'd have to work if she didn't want to find herself without a bed to sleep in that night. Of course, she didn't believe me. Told me to stuff it up my ass, so I told _her_ she could go bed down with the pigs where she belonged, useless sot that she was. And then I picked her up and threw her out."

Lancelot stared at her in disbelief.

"Yes," she continued, pausing to let out a hearty chuckle. "Little fool was stubborn about it, not that I expected anything less. Slept in the woods for nearly a week before she came crawling back, dirty and half starved, swearing up and down she'd do whatever I wanted if I'd take her back in. Even offered to whore herself, though I guess she understood we wouldn't be having that when I gave her a nice, hard slap in response."

"But she's..."

"Bedded up with that handsome friend of yours," Nessie nodded sagely. "I know. But he's not paying her for it, is he? Nothing wrong with a woman doing it by her own choice."

"I suppose you're right," he responded. After all, it was the same reasoning he'd used to justify sharing a bed with Millie in the past. Even though he'd given it little thought in quite some time, there was still comfort in hearing someone else confirm those feelings.

"Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, I put her to work here in the tavern. She was a disaster at first, sniping at the customers and spilling drinks all over the place. But once she figured out how much more she could earn by being charming, pretty girl that she is, everything changed. Well," she paused and waved her hand at the greatly improved atmosphere of the room. "Guess this place speaks for itself."

"I'm glad it worked out so well," Lancelot said sincerely. "For both of you."

"And what about you? Here I am going on and on about myself, haven't heard a thing about your life. Not that I've ever been the kind to ask questions, of course, but..."

Lancelot knew that was his cue to tell her everything, though he carefully avoided any mention of Gwen as he did so. He was fairly certain what Nessie would say; he'd heard it from Gwaine all those months before, and more and more often these days, it was his own conscience that had him questioning the decision he'd made.

What could he say... to himself, to her, to anyone? It no longer mattered whether he'd been right or wrong, regardless of what anyone said. What was he supposed to do? It wasn't as if he could go rushing to Camelot after leaving her the way he had, pretending he still had the right to... _what?_ Disrupt her life? Interfere with her happiness with Arthur, on the very likely chance they were together?

No, he'd made his choice. If there had ever been a time to hesitate, to make sure he was doing the right thing, it was far behind him now. Whatever doubts he might have, regardless of any regrets, there was nothing to do but live with the decision he'd made.

"This Gwaine sounds like a decent fellow," Nessie observed, intruding on his thoughts. "Not many men who'd care for a stranger the way he did, that's for sure."

Lancelot nodded in agreement.

"So now the two of you travel around, picking up a bit of work, then moving along to the next place," she said thoughtfully. "A pair of wanderers. Well, a lot better off than where you were, there's no denying that. Can't last forever though."

"Why do you say that?" he asked cautiously.

Nessie gave him a look that was almost apologetic before she spoke. "Because it isn't what you want. And there always comes a day when a man realizes he can't outrun the truth."

Lancelot shifted uncomfortably, avoiding the watery blue eyes that seemed to see straight into his soul. "Maybe you're right," he conceded, if for no other reason than he realized how useless it would be to protest. "But I'm content for now."

The expression on her face made it obvious that she didn't believe him, but before she could speak again, the tavern door flew open. Lancelot looked up to find Gwaine grinning at him, looking exhausted yet surprisingly cheerful. He sauntered over to the table and flopped down in an empty chair, treating Nessie to a charming smile before helping himself to a piece of Lancelot's leftover bacon.

"No manners!" she scolded as she rose to her feet, the twinkle in her eye contradicting the disapproval in her voice. "Wait just a minute and I'll get you your own."

Without another word, she hurried off to the kitchen.

"Been here long?" Gwaine questioned, yawning dramatically before fixing Lancelot with a lazily inquisitive stare.

"About an hour. Maybe two."

"You look as tired as I feel."

He merely nodded in response, not wishing to point out that it was Gwaine himself, or rather Gwaine and Millie, who were responsible for his loss of sleep. "What's the plan?" he asked instead, as Nessie quietly set a tankard of ale and a plate of food in front of the other man.

"Nice place, great food, good company. Thought we might stay a while, if it's all the same to you."

* * *

Why couldn't it be enough? 

That was the question Lancelot kept asking himself as he wandered aimlessly through the peaceful streets of Oakview a few weeks later. He was among friends in a safe place, one that was far more comfortable now that he'd acquired a room for himself at the inn. At least for a while, he'd be able to sleep in the same bed every night, then wake up to familiar faces in the morning. He had more than enough savings to ensure there'd be no need to worry throughout the winter. 

Indeed, there wasn't a single cause for anxiety to be found.

Why was he so restless then? Why couldn't he ignore the overwhelming desire to escape that had begun to haunt him day and night?

But deep down, the answer to those questions was painfully obvious. It was the lack of purpose that was driving him mad... mad with boredom, mad with the need to do something more than revolve his life around his own needs and comforts. It might suit Gwaine to live that way... Gwaine, who was almost shamefully content to divide his time between the tavern and Millie's bed, completely fulfilled by self-indulgence. 

But for Lancelot, it wasn't so easy. The satisfaction he craved could only be found in serving others, in doing something meaningful with his life.

Later that evening, he returned to the inn to receive a letter from Merlin, something that had become one of his greatest pleasures during the seemingly endless winter of inactivity. He accepted it from Nessie with a word of thanks, then headed upstairs and wrapped himself in a blanket as the icy wind howled outside the window of his tiny room.

_Dear Lancelot,_

_There's so much I wish I could tell you, and so little I can say without... well, you know my reasons._

_Sometimes I wonder why I bother writing at all, but even if I can't explain everything that has happened, I have to hope that somehow, you'll understand me anyway. You might not know all my secrets, but you know the most important one, and that's enough. It has to be, at least for now._

_So many things have changed. I've lost things I didn't even know I had. Chances for understanding, for love, to not be alone anymore. I tried to hold onto them, to save them, but I couldn't do it. I just couldn't._

_I hope this letter doesn't alarm you. Arthur, Gw... everyone you might worry about is safe._

_And as for me, I'm just now beginning to realize how much it will cost me to do what I must do. It seems like every day, anything I might want for myself slips through my fingers like water. I don't know how to stop it, or even if it would be possible if I tried._

_Don't be concerned about me, Lancelot. I'm just feeling sorry for myself._

_Merlin_

Lancelot frowned as he rummaged through his satchel, retrieving his quill and parchment. Merlin had sounded a bit downtrodden in his previous few letters, but that had been nothing compared with the hopelessness contained in the message he currently held in his hand. The Merlin he'd always known was optimistic, never one to shy away in the face of adversity. Of course, with the gifts he had, there were many obstacles that could easily be overcome... obstacles that would prove impossible for any ordinary man.

 _So why...?_ But then suddenly, he understood. He and Merlin were similar in a lot of ways, something he'd always recognized even if it had never been openly acknowledged. It was in both their natures to sacrifice for others, to use their talents to create a safer and more just world for the people they cared about. Lancelot might not know what it was like to live with magic, but he certainly knew the frustration of feeling a strong sense of obligation and not being able to act on it.

Merlin was forced to pretend his magic didn't exist, often when it was desperately needed. And Lancelot had a lifetime of training he couldn't seem to use for the protection of others, no matter how hard he tried.

Yes, he understood all too well.

_Dear Merlin,_

_I know there are many things you can't say in a letter, but I know how you feel. There's nothing worse than feeling helpless, especially when those we care about are in danger._

_You may not be able to tell me what has happened, but the way it's affected you speaks for itself._

_You mustn't lose faith. Whatever has been lost, however you feel you've failed, you know as well as I do that you did the best you could. You can't blame yourself for things that are beyond your power, nor can you fault yourself for what others can't see._

_Your time will come, Merlin. One day, you'll be recognized for who you truly are, and whatever you've suffered along the way will make that day even brighter when it finally arrives. Then you'll have it in your power to put the wrong things right, probably far more than you and I could possibly dream of as we are right now._

_My only wish is that I'll have the privilege of being there to see what you will become._

_In the meantime, you must be patient... and try to remember that there's at least one person who sees the truth, and will always feel honored that he was one of the first. You are not alone._

_Lancelot_

Feeling better than he had in weeks, Lancelot sealed the letter and set it on the bedside table, then blew out the candle and drifted off to sleep.


	58. Relinquishment

#  **Chapter 58: Relinquishment**

* * *

"Arthur!" Gwen exclaimed in surprise as she opened the door to find the cloaked figure standing on her doorstep.

He cast a surreptitious look up and down the deserted street, then glanced at her anxiously. "May I come in for a minute?"

"I... yes, of course," she stuttered, then stepped aside to let him pass.

When she turned around, he was standing by the kitchen table, the place where they'd shared a companionable meal together more than a year before. So much had changed since then; it seemed odd that the room looked exactly the same.

"Would you like...?"

"I wanted to..."

Arthur shook his head as she let out a self-conscious laugh. "You first," he said graciously.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"Just water, please."

She ignored the way he seated himself at the table without being invited, figuring the "please" in his request had earned him a blind eye for the moment. "Here you go," she said with a smile, settling herself in the chair across from him. "Now, what can I do for you, Arthur?"

"Guinevere, I wanted to..." he trailed off, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "That is, I wanted to thank you for what you said. You know, when Gaius was almost..."

"Executed?"

He winced.

"I'm sorry," she hastily apologized. "I didn't mean to be so blunt about it."

"No, you're right. And you were right to call me out on my actions. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't forced me to acknowledge my conscience. To tell you the truth, I... well, I still don't know how to forgive myself for..."

She interrupted in a soft, sympathetic voice. "You would've done the right thing either way, Arthur. I know you would have."

"Like I did with your father?" he said, meeting her eyes directly for the first time since he'd arrived.

This time, it was Gwen who winced.

"Forgive me," he murmured, reaching out to touch her hand ever so briefly before pulling his fingers away. "It's just... I didn't come here to apologize for what almost happened with Gaius. It was unfortunate, yes, but what you said... about your... about Tom..."

"I don't blame you for that, Arthur," Gwen said gently, even though there was some tiny part of her that did.

He was obviously having a similar thought as he stared back at her with eyes full of skepticism. "Really?"

She hesitated. "I... it doesn't matter, Arthur. It's too late now. Besides, I know you would've never wanted it to happen, and that if you'd felt like you had the power to change it, you would've done so."

"I should have," he said sadly. "I'm going to be king someday, Guinevere. I shouldn't be afraid to act on my conscience under any circumstances. I just wish there was something I could do to make it right."

"There is. Don't let my father's death be in vain. Act in his memory, and for others who've already suffered, when you show mercy in the future. He... I think he would've appreciated that."

"And you?"

"Don't do anything for my sake, Arthur. Do it because it's the right thing to do."

He nodded and looked away, seeming fixated on a crack in the wall near the window. They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes; Gwen was sure he'd make up an excuse and leave, but he didn't. Desperately, she cast about for something else to say, some other topic of conversation that might be appropriate.

"I saw Merlin..."

"Guinevere, I wanted to..."

She shook her head in exasperation, smiling at his embarrassed chuckle. "We've got to stop doing that."

"I know," he said, the expression on his face suddenly becoming serious. There was something in his eyes, something so plaintive that she found herself avoiding his gaze as he spoke. "I miss talking to you. It was so much easier before..."

 _Before Lancelot._ Arthur didn't need to say it out loud; they both knew exactly what he meant.

"That's in the past," she said firmly, wondering if there'd ever be a day when she'd be able to think about it without feeling a sharp ache inside. "You can still talk to me, Arthur. I'm the same person I've always been."

He sucked in a deep breath. "Well, if it helps for me to say it, I forgive you."

She stared at him in confusion. "Forgive me? For what?"

"For what you did."

"And exactly _what_ did I do?"

The surprise on his face was so genuine that she found herself seething with anger in response. It transformed into something unpleasantly familiar, that wounded, sullen look he'd aimed at her from across the campfire as she'd sat close to Lancelot on their final night together. There was that same hint of betrayal in his eyes, only now, it was combined with an infuriating amount of disbelief.

"You... you and Lancelot."

She closed her eyes against the sting of hearing his name. "And you believe that something I need to be _forgiven_ for?"

"Perhaps not," Arthur said coldly as he rose to his feet. "I shouldn't have come here. You obviously don't... I should go."

Emotion boiled up in Gwen's chest, a blinding hot mixture of pain and fury that was the culmination of everything she'd suffered since that night. Arthur, seeking to blame her for a crime she'd never committed, and then Lancelot doing the very same thing. Both of them were so willing to find her at fault for betrayals that didn't even exist. One of them had abandoned her and shattered her heart for this reason; the other had subjected her to months of guilt inducing stares and awkward silences, something she now realized had been a form of punishment.

Neither had simply asked her how she felt or what she wanted from them. One was beyond her reach now, but the other...

"How dare you?" she said, her voice shaking with rage. "How dare you treat me as if I betrayed you, Arthur? You... did you think I was yours, just because you had feelings for me? Yes, there was some attraction between us. I won't deny that. But that didn't obligate me to be faithful to you! Did I ever promise to be? Did you ever _ask?_ No, you didn't. You kissed me once, and then told me nothing could ever happen because of your father. So how can you treat me like... how can you blame me for...?"

He stood stiffly with his hand on the doorknob, staring at her in silence.

"Well, say something."

"What would you like me to say?" he responded quietly. "I just assumed that you..."

Gwen shook her head as she sank back into her chair. "Unbelievable. How can anyone be so arrogant?"

Arthur looked as if she'd slapped him. "Arrogant? Is that what you think of me, Guinevere? Well, it wasn't arrogance. I was _hopeful_. Maybe my feelings for you led me to believe there was something more between us, but it had nothing to do with my pride. But you're right. It wasn't my place to blame you when you never... I'm sorry."

"Arthur..."

"I've never really... cared about someone before," he continued in a rush. "I didn't know how to handle it and I just... I was hurt and confused. But I never meant to..."

At that, Gwen felt the last of her anger drain away. "It's all right," she interrupted him tiredly. "It was obviously all just a big misunderstanding. It doesn't matter now."

"It does to me. Regardless of what happened, my... feelings haven't changed."

He took a step closer, gazing at her intently with honest blue eyes. There was something vulnerable in his expression, as well as a hint of what could very well have been fear as he waited for her reaction. What could she say? She hadn't been sure of what she'd wanted the first time he'd shown interest in her, and after Lancelot...

"Arthur, I don't know if I... I don't know what to tell you."

"I'm not asking you to feel anything that isn't already in your heart," he paused for a moment, brushing at a nonexistent spot of dirt on his cloak before he continued. "But if it's truly over between you and Lancelot, I'd like to believe I might still have a chance. I'm not in a position to make any promises either; the future seems impossible for more reasons than I can count. But that doesn't change my feelings."

"What are you asking me, Arthur?" she said, careful to keep her tone gentle. 

He let out a long, shuddering sigh before raising his eyes to hers. "I don't know. Just to... consider me, I suppose. Spend time with me when it's possible for us to do so. Let me be close to you and see what happens. See how you feel. That is, of course, if there isn't anyone else."

"There isn't anyone else," she whispered. And it was true, at least in the sense that there wasn't even a ghost of a chance she'd ever be with Lancelot the way she had once hoped for. It didn't seem necessary to mention that somewhere deep inside, she still loved him no matter what he'd done.

Arthur looked so overjoyed it nearly broke her heart, yet it was obvious he was being sincere when he said, "I'm sorry, Guinevere. If I did anything to..."

"It wasn't your fault. It just wasn't... it wasn't meant to be, I guess. I'd prefer not to speak of it anymore."

"I can accept that," he said kindly. "I should be getting back now, but I hope you'll at least consider what I'm asking. I'm not expecting anything, I just want to be around you. Will you allow that?"

After only the slightest hesitation, she nodded her head.

It was such a small request, entirely reasonable, and even so flattering that she couldn't possibly think of a refusal. And in truth, she really didn't _want_ to turn him down. Between losing Lancelot and her growing estrangement from Morgana, her days had been filled with a deep sense of loneliness. Having someone around who _wanted_ to be close to her, a person who cared and wasn't afraid to show it, was something she desperately needed.

For that, she could ignore the suspicion that Arthur's feelings ran much deeper than her own.

But still, she felt _something_ for him. There was a great deal of warm affection, even tenderness that came upon her whenever he was around. And once she let go of her anger over the way he'd reacted to her supposed betrayal with Lancelot, it was surprisingly easy to allow those emotions to dominate her perception.

Easy... that was the reason she eventually allowed their relationship to grow. It was soothing to a heart that was still broken and simply needed a respite. Arthur never inspired overwhelming feelings that were equal parts exhilarating and terrifying as Lancelot had done. No, her attachment to him was calm, rational, with no trace of desperate passion or maddening hunger.

She knew she'd be just fine without him, and that was the reason she was able to be _with_ him.

He was a good man. True, he could be exceedingly arrogant at times, downright oblivious more often than not, but there was a great deal of comfort in his predictability. She never had to worry he'd desert her, nor that he'd suddenly decide to go his own way without her consent. That was the difference between Arthur and every other man she'd ever loved – he depended on her to steer him in the right direction, rather than deciding what that should be for himself.

When she first realized she loved him, her feelings had a lot to do with simple gratitude. After all, he was her distraction, her escape, a healing balm spread over a ravaged heart. Her world had been so cold during those painful months of isolation after Lancelot's departure... Arthur was the warm blanket she'd wrapped around herself to ward off the chill.

But then deeper emotions gradually began to overpower the fear of loneliness he held at bay, transforming into something that went well beyond a simple need for companionship. It wasn't just about a need to be filled anymore, nor the feeling of safety he represented. She loved _him_.

If that love was more nurturing than passionate, more driven by friendship than desire, perhaps that wasn't such a bad thing. And as she began to understand her own power... the ability to shape him into a better man, promising a better kingdom for them all someday, it mattered less and less what she might be lacking for herself. She could ignore the wordless longings, burying them somewhere deep inside during nights that still seemed far more lonely than they should've been when she had someone to love.

Arthur was real. He standing right in front of her with his hand outstretched, representing a future that was full of possibility. For him, and for the hope of everything that might lay ahead, Gwen had to put aside the ghosts of her past. Somehow, she had to learn to silence the whisperings of a heart that still wept for things that could never be.


	59. A Greater Purpose

#  **Chapter 59: A Greater Purpose**

* * *

_Dear Merlin,_

_I was relieved to hear that you received my last letter. It seems you, Arthur, and the knights have journeyed across the kingdom and back these past few months, and I can only ever hope that the last destination you've given me is the correct one. It's easy for me to understand similar comments you've made in the past now, though your reasons for being constantly on the move are far more noble than mine, of course._

_Has there been any news of the Lady Morgana? I wish..._

Lancelot hesitated, his quill hovering over the half finished letter as he debated on what to say next. Corresponding with Merlin while he was away from Camelot had provided complications, but it had also made it easier for both of them to speak freely. Merlin had been able to give him the basic details, at least – Morgana had been kidnapped, and there'd been no news of her whereabouts since the day she'd disappeared.

What Lancelot _wanted_ to say was, "I wish I could be at you and Arthur's side during this quest."

After the long months of inactivity, the constant feeling of uselessness that had chafed at him throughout the winter, he had the overwhelming desire to pack his things and seek them out whether his assistance was wanted or not. It felt terribly wrong to be sitting idle in some cozy room half a kingdom away while those he cared for were out in the snows facing countless dangers.

And the Lady Morgana... why had she been taken? Merlin had been rather evasive on that point, the few words he'd said on the matter coming across as vague and strange. What had he meant when he'd written, "Some people are not what they seem?"

Lancelot shook his head, banishing the thought. It didn't matter; the Morgana he remembered had been a sweet and honorable woman. Whatever the circumstances of her disappearance had been, she surely hadn't deserved to be taken from her home; remembering all the kindness she'd shown him during his time in Camelot, he regretted his inability to return the favor by assisting in her rescue.

"I wish you'd allow me to come and fight beside you," he wanted to write.

Unfortunately, Merlin had already discouraged it. Lancelot had offered his services when he'd first been told the news, only to receive a letter in return that had simply stated, "No, not for this."

Why? A quest to save the life of someone who was so important to the king, and to all who loved her? Surely that was sufficient cause to accept _any_ support that might lead to her safe return?

But when he'd voiced these thoughts, Merlin had been adamant. "Enough men are risking their lives as it is. Stay where you are. I know you want to help, but trust me. This isn't the time."

With a heavy sigh, he lowered the quill and finished the letter:

_I wish you and Arthur the best of luck in your search. Please keep me informed whenever you can, and until then, take care of yourself._

_Your faithful friend,_   
_Lancelot_

* * *

"Merlin?" Gwen said in a soft voice, stepping carefully around Sir Leon's sleeping body as she held out the folded square of parchment. "Another letter for you."

He accepted it with a tired nod of thanks, studying the nondescript block lettering for only the briefest instant before hastily tucking it away in the pocket of his jacket.

Gwen looked at him curiously, as she always did whenever one of these letters arrived. She immediately recognized the spidery scrawl of Gaius, of course, and she had learned to discern the neat script of Merlin's mother. But she couldn't begin to guess the identity of the person who sent the plainly labeled letters, and with a frequency that surprised her.

At first, she had teased him about having a secret lover waiting for him back in Camelot, hoping his embarrassment over the idea would lead him to reveal who it was that was really writing to him. But he'd looked so sad when she'd said it that she'd dropped the subject entirely.

They were all sad these days, the weary collection of would-be rescuers that trudged ever onward through the snow and biting winds. As the weeks passed, and then the months, their numbers had slowly dwindled in their fruitless search for the Lady Morgana. Some had lost their lives during the countless minor skirmishes they'd encountered on their journey, but others had succumbed to sickness brought on by the unusually cold winter.

But whenever word was sent back to the king, detailing their losses or even pleading for permission to call off the search until spring, the response was always clear:

"We must not cease our efforts until she is found."

Gwen sniffed as she crawled beneath her thin blanket, settling herself as close to Arthur as she dared without arousing suspicion. It was easy for Uther to be so absolute on the matter, safe and warm in his distant palace. He couldn't know how his men suffered from the constant cold and hunger they endured, along with illnesses and wounds that were never given a chance to properly heal as they continued on through merciless weather and harsh terrain.

Despite the uncomfortable conditions, however, Gwen was glad she'd come along. When Uther had commanded her to accompany the men, insisting Morgana would have need of her maidservant when she was found, Gwen had eagerly agreed, ignoring Arthur's protests. Caring for Morgana had filled her days and nights back in Camelot for as long as she could remember; without her, what would she have done with herself if she'd been left behind?

Uther had been deaf to his son's complaints. Gwen was merely a servant, after all, and just as the king had never raised an eyebrow when Merlin traveled with Arthur into dangerous situations, unarmed and untrained, he didn't seem to have any concern over Gwen's safety either.

Arthur had eventually submitted to his father's will, though numerous arguments had erupted as soon as they'd passed beyond the city walls. He'd tried to send her back at first, insisting the king would never notice her presence as long as she avoided the palace. When that hadn't worked, he'd led their party to Ealdor, clearly planning to depart without her in the gray hours just before dawn.

Hunith had given her an understanding smile as she'd watched her carefully arrange the sacks of grain to look like a sleeping body, then creep out the door to wait beside the horses as Arthur began to stir.

When attempts to outsmart her had failed, Arthur had resorted to a series of heartfelt pleas and numerous concerns regarding her safety. It was no use, she'd told him with an edge of steel in her gentle voice. Morgana was her friend, too; she had every right to take part in the journey, particularly since she was there under the king's orders.

Arthur's final tactic had been to search for some way Gwen might be hindering their rescue efforts. If she'd been slower than the others or had tired more easily, had taken ill or otherwise interfered with their progress, he would've had an excuse to send her home with the king's blessing. But to his initial surprise and then grudging respect, she'd never faltered, even when seasoned knights had struggled with the relentless pace.

More than that, she'd proven to be an invaluable help in any number of ways. Together, she and Merlin had managed to keep the men reasonably well fed, washed and mended clothing, and tended to injuries far more effectively than the knights themselves were capable of doing.

Gwen shivered beneath her threadbare blanket as she studied their sleeping faces, the men who'd become her constant companions throughout the last few months. They were all much too thin, their features haggard even in slumber, filthy and exhausted as they slept on the cold, hard floor in the deserted hall.

And yet, not one among them had voiced a single complaint during the harrowing journey. Not Sir Leon, who struggled on day after day with a pronounced limp from a half healed wound he'd taken when a stray arrow had embedded itself in his shin. Not Sir Bedwyr, whose body convulsed under a painful fit of coughing even as she watched. Not Merlin, who didn't even have the protection of a thick woolen cloak to shelter him from the frigid winds.

Most of all, Arthur himself never faltered, refusing to show his men anything but an optimistic determination that left Gwen in awe of his unwavering strength. She knew the truth, of course... he sought her out whenever they could steal a moment alone, his head drooping wearily on her shoulder as he whispered about his doubts and fears. But the fact that he felt them so deeply and could still manage to put on such a brave face for the others only strengthened her faith in him.

Arthur _needed_ her, and he wasn't afraid to show it. It was an intoxicating feeling... holding him, stroking his hair away from his forehead, soothing away his insecurities with reassuring words. Perhaps their relationship lacked a different kind of passion, acted upon physically with nothing than a few sweetly pleasant kisses, but the sense of security Gwen found in its place elicited its own devotion.

The way Arthur's dependence made her feel capable and in control brought her a surprising amount of satisfaction, as if taking care of him somehow guaranteed that everything else would fall into place. She could feel her strength flowing through him, bolstering his efforts to sustain the men through a quest that was so much bigger than she could comprehend.

It had become about more than just finding Morgana and returning her to safety. Despite herself, Gwen began to imagine what else might be possible through her bond with Arthur. She'd already inspired him to treat commoners with more respect, to intervene on any number of occasions to prevent injustice, and to question his actions where he might not have done so otherwise. He _listened_ to her, perhaps more than any other; what could that mean if she became his queen someday?

Sometimes, these thoughts would lead Gwen to a bittersweet place. Did she truly love Arthur for _himself_... or was it merely for all the things he represented?

It had all been so clear with Lancelot, a fierce, overwhelming love that had made it irrelevant whether he'd been an honorable knight or a humble commoner without a thing in the world to offer but himself. She'd wanted him regardless of his circumstances... but would she have chosen Arthur if he was just an ordinary man?

In the end, however, she always pushed these thoughts from her mind. Did it really matter? She'd only ever love one man the way she'd loved Lancelot, and he was beyond her reach now. Why _not_ devote herself to Arthur... and yes, everything he represented, too? Maybe there was a greater purpose for her life than her own needs and passion, a future where those things would cease to matter compared with what she might be able to do for others.

Glancing over at Arthur as he let out a loud snore, she smiled to herself before turning away on her side. Reality certainly wasn't as romantic as her dreams, but it still held a world of possibility.

* * *

Lancelot awoke at dawn with a single, overwhelming thought that drove him to rise and pull on the nearest pair of trousers with a surprising amount of urgency. He splashed cold water on his face, finished dressing, and packed all of his possessions in his satchel, which he slung over one shoulder as he bounded down the stairs.

Nessie was seated behind the bar, staring at him quizzically as he rummaged in his pockets for his depleted supply of gold. He was relieved to see her; although he didn't have the patience to linger long enough to write a letter, he hadn't relished the idea of disappearing yet again without saying goodbye.

"Leaving again?" she asked him archly.

"Yes," he said, as he withdrew a handful of coins and counted out the proper sum.

Nessie frowned. "Put your money away."

"You don't understand," he explained as he laid the payment on the bar. "I'm leaving for good."

She rolled her eyes. "I kind of figured that," she said, waving a lazy hand at his satchel. "Even if you weren't carrying all your worldly possessions on your back, I've seen it coming for months. You're bored out of your mind here. Now put your money away."

Lancelot made no move to collect the coins. "But I owe you..."

"Nothing," she interrupted as she rose to her feet and filled a tankard of mead, pushing it in his direction. "Now put it away or I'll throw it out in the snow."

"Thank you," he said, pausing to take a long drink before he gave in and slipped the coins back in his pocket. "You've been very kind, and..."

"I'm twice as well off as I was before you came along," she interrupted with an impatient sniff. "Nothing kind about repaying a debt."

Lancelot gave her an indulgent smile that made her cheeks turn red. "If you say so. Would you please tell the others that I'll send word as soon as I can?"

Setting down the tankard with a final murmur of gratitude, he started to turn away before he was halted by another command.

"Hold it!"

He stopped in his tracks. No matter how anxious he was to be on his way, there was no ignoring the determination in that voice.

Nessie bustled over and planted herself firmly in front of the door with her fleshy arms folded over her ample chest. "Go find yourself a table."

"But I have to..."

She silenced him with a dangerous look. "You have to leave. Yes. But I'm not letting you walk out of here without a decent breakfast inside you. Now _go sit down_."

Lancelot sighed in resignation as he obeyed, grudgingly admitting to himself that she was right as his stomach growled. He devoured the ham and eggs she set in front of him without complaint, grateful for her relative silence as she watched him eat.

He was glad she stuck to her usual policy of not asking questions, though he felt guilty for conveniently ignoring the avid curiosity in her eyes. How could he possibly explain the sudden, inescapable impulse that had overtaken his senses? He hardly even understood it himself.

No, what he needed was time to sort out his thoughts; fortunately, there'd be plenty of room for reflection on the long journey to find Merlin and Arthur.


	60. An Unexpected Detour

#  **Chapter 60: An Unexpected Detour**

* * *

The answers Lancelot had been hoping for never quite came.

Oh, he understood why he wanted to assist Merlin and Arthur in their quest to find Morgana. His determination to serve, to do something useful with his skills, had been a lifelong ambition, after all. Nor was there any confusion in a particularly strong desire to use his strengths to help those he cared for.

But why was the need suddenly so overwhelming that he was choosing to ignore Merlin's insistence that he should _not_ come?

Spring thaws had fallen over the landscape, turning the roads into treacherous pathways of mud and ice. He rode at a slow, painstaking pace that nearly drove him mad with impatience, bringing him further frustration when he had to dismount on several occasions and lead his horse through a particularly deep patch of sludge.

Why? It wasn't the first time he'd been aware that Merlin and Arthur had undertaken a dangerous mission; in the past, he'd merely regretted his absence, trusting Arthur's formidable skills and Merlin's powerful gifts to prevail against any foe they might encounter. He'd certainly never felt such a compelling urge to rush to their sides no matter the cost.

Was it due to his long months of inactivity, all those monotonous days and restless nights he'd spent longing for the chance to do _something_ worthwhile with himself? It must be, for the only other explanation was that he'd sensed some greater threat on the horizon. But how could that be the case? Their quest was to save a lone woman who'd been kidnapped; they weren't facing an imminent invasion or some other dire threat to the kingdom.

Lancelot shook his head, certain there couldn't be any deeper cause than the simple need to fight. It had been much too long, and after all, what other opportunities did he have to offer his service?

He'd just dismounted in a secluded alcove when he heard it. Almost as if his inner desires had conjured the sounds, there was a distinct clash of metal upon metal in the distance. A cry of pain echoed through the trees, followed by a furious roar, the words indistinguishable across the distance that separated him from the scene of combat.

There was no room for thought as he launched himself back in the saddle and took off in the direction of the noise, but he at least had the forethought to remain concealed for a few precious minutes as he took measure of the situation, trying to distinguish friend from foe before entering the fray.

The first thing he noticed was a large wagon, tilted at an angle with one wheel sunk deep in the mud. It was filled with bales of wool, several of which had toppled over into the road as the wagon swayed back and forth under the power of the pair of horses who were straining against the tethers in an effort to escape the brutal scene.

And it _was_ brutal... five men already lay dead, blood from numerous wounds spilling across the melting patches of snow that covered the ground. Four of them had a rough appearance he instantly recognized – animal skins, mismatched bits of armor, and a hard, hungry look that only meant one thing. Bandits.

The fifth man was dressed in a uniform of sorts – simple clothing, but he'd obviously been clean and well groomed before the fight. There were two still standing who were wearing something similar – a soft faced, slightly overweight man whose bottom lip trembled as he struck out at one of the remaining bandits with a stick, and an unusually tall man with close cropped hair, who fought with a strength and speed that Lancelot found impressive.

He'd obviously stumbled across the scene of an attempted robbery, and with that realization, the decision was made.

Unsheathing his sword in one fluid motion, he burst through the thicket where he'd been hiding, choosing the bandit who'd just aimed what would have surely been a fatal blow at the smaller of the two defenders. The lean, rawboned man with scraggly red hair and a noticeable absence of teeth left Lancelot almost disappointed with the lack of challenge he offered. As soon as he blocked the first wildly aimed blow, the bandit was left wide open; Lancelot seized the opportunity he'd been given.

A helpless gurgle, the heavy thud of a body hitting the ground, and then only four remained... no, three. The larger defender had the bandit he'd been fighting by the neck, and with a quiet, yet angry grunt, he lifted him straight off his feet and sent him crashing into a nearby tree.

"Get back," Lancelot muttered to the smaller man who stared back at him in awe, never noticing as another bandit crept up beside him and aimed a brutal looking mace at his head. The blow never connected; Lancelot brought his sword down with such savage force that the opponent lay lifeless at his feet before his mace had even landed harmlessly in the brush.

He spun around, relishing the sweetly familiar, focused energy that flowed through his body as his eyes searched for another enemy. There was only one left, a grizzled bear of a man who crept toward the larger of his new allies with deadly intent in his eyes. He brandished a heavy club, wicked and bulbous, with a thick iron head that was covered in spikes.

At first, it seemed as if the other man could handle the bandit, but then he staggered, his movements clumsy and slow as he lifted his sword.

Lancelot rushed forward, coming between the two men as he shoved hard and attempted to knock the final opponent off balance. It was a useless effort; as solid as the trees surrounding them, the bandit didn't so much as sway on his feet as he twisted around and aimed his club at Lancelot's head in one smooth, practiced motion.

Ducking to avoid impact, Lancelot whirled around and had taken several quick steps backward before the other man managed to steady himself after his missed swing. The bandit came at him with a roar of fury, and then it was over... Lancelot shook his head in disgust as he withdrew his blade and let the body fall to the ground, strangely disappointed at how quickly the fight had ended.

But at the moment, there were more important things to worry about. He turned back to the two men he'd assisted, frowning as he watched the smaller of the two attempting to wrap a torn bit of fabric around a nasty looking gash in the larger man's thigh as the latter slumped heavily against the wagon wheel.

"T-thank you," the smaller man stuttered, extending a pudgy hand before realizing it was covered in blood. Lancelot stopped him as he started to withdraw it, however, taking it in his own in a friendly grip.

He shook his head and smiled. "There's no need to thank me."

"I-I don't know what we would've done if you hadn't helped us," the little man continued, his soft blue eyes suspiciously damp as he stared up at Lancelot. "I'm Gordy, the driver, and this here is Percival. I wish you could have met Landry, but..." he paused as he stared sadly at the uniformed body on the ground. "It seems he's no longer with us."

"My name is Lancelot, and I'm very sorry for your loss."

Gordy nodded his thanks, then looked around at the wreckage. "What are we supposed to do?" he asked, gesturing helplessly at the collection of bodies, the mired wagon, and at Percival, who was obviously struggling to remain conscious. As strong as the larger man appeared, he was clearly losing the battle; Lancelot reached out with steadying arms just as his legs gave out, employing all his strength to shift him onto the closest bale of wool.

Lancelot had never considered treating wounds to be one of his greatest skills, but was sure his own efforts would be more effective than the meager scraps of fabric that were tied loosely around the gash in Percival's thigh. Gordy called after him in a panic as he rushed away, but he was back in the blink of an eye, tearing one of his own shirts into thick, sturdy strips.

He wrapped the makeshift bandages tightly around the wound, only mildly satisfied when the bleeding began to slow. Percival needed help, and quickly; he was fully unconscious now, his face white as a sheet as his chest rose and fell with shallow, labored breaths.

"Where did you come from? Is it far?"

Gordy wrung his hands anxiously as he stared at Percival. "J-just a couple of miles back down the road. Not far, but the wagon is stuck," he paused, giving Lancelot a meaningful look as if he hadn't noticed.

"I know," he responded as patiently as he could manage under the circumstances. "Please, just tell me where it is and who I should talk to when I get there. I'll go for help."

"Big place. Up on a hill beyond the trees. Can't miss it... nothing else around these parts but little cottages. Speak to the master. He's Percival's father. Yes, he'll know what to do."

Lancelot nodded briefly, already halfway to his horse when the little man let out a cry of alarm.

"What about me?"

"Stay with him. Try to keep him warm."

Gordy's lower lip began to tremble. "But it's growing dark!" he protested, even as he pulled off his own cloak and tucked it around Percival's unconscious body. "What if more bandits come? What if...?"

But Lancelot was already galloping through the murky twilight, straining his eyes to discern any obstacles ahead as he whispered a silent prayer that the horse wouldn't stumble, that he'd make it in time, that he'd be able to return with the help Percival so desperately needed before it was too late.

He veered sharply to the left when he saw it, a narrow path that led up to the small fortress that stood on the hill like a ghostly sentinel. And then he was pounding across the drawbridge, throwing himself off his mount, wondering all the while why he'd encountered no opposition upon entering the lands of the clearly wealthy man. He ran right up to the door and pounded urgently, gasping for breath as he attempted to recover from his frantic ride.

It swung open almost immediately to reveal a sallow faced woman with lanky brown hair. "Yes?" she said a little coldly.

"I-I need to speak with the master."

She frowned. "Who are you?"

"It doesn't matter," he managed between pants. "Please, it's important. It concerns..."

"I'll decide what's important," she said sourly, to Lancelot's immense frustration. But just as he drew a deep breath and prepared to argue his case, a low, surprisingly reassuring voice echoed through the hall.

"Who is it, my love?"

Lancelot knew him for Percival's father in an instant. He was an older version of his son, unusually tall and broad with a muscular physique. His graying hair was a little longer and he wore a small beard, but other than that, there was very little difference between them.

"Your son is badly injured!" he burst out without hesitation. "I came upon them on the road... they were being attacked... bandits... I helped as much as I could, but your son, Percival, he... he took a wound to the leg."

If the older man was alarmed, he didn't show it. A grim determination had settled over his face as Lancelot spoke, and by the time he was finished, they were already out the door and on their way to the stables.

"Shouldn't we bring more men?" Lancelot questioned as a young stable boy quickly saddled his master's mount.

"Fresh horse for our friend here, too," the older man commanded. "Tend to the other as soon as we're gone."

He gave Lancelot a meaningful look as he climbed into the saddle. "There are no men to bring."

Percival had somehow grown even more pale by the time they'd reached the site of the attack. Gordy let out a cry of relief as he recognized his master, but the older man barely acknowledged him as he rushed to his son's side.

"He's lost a lot of blood," he commented half to himself after a cursory examination. "I think he'll make it though, if we can get him back to the fortress. You there... I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name. Lancelot? Yes, Lancelot, untether the horses if you would? We can't leave them out here in the cold. Gordy can ride with you while you lead them back, and I'll carry Percival with me."

"But what about the wagon? The wool?" Gordy protested frantically, as Lancelot hurried off to do as he'd been asked. "What about Landry?"

"Landry is dead," the older man said shortly. "We'll have to retrieve his body in the morning. The rest is... unimportant."

* * *

Lancelot didn't allow himself to feel the heavy weight of exhaustion until their small party had arrived back at the fortress. Quietly, he watched as Percival's father lifted his son in his arms, carrying him up the stairs as easily as if he'd been a child. When they'd departed, he stood awkwardly in the empty hall, resisting the urge to lean heavily against one of the rough pillars.

"Something to eat?" the woman spoke from behind, startling him with her sudden appearance. It was the man's wife, making her Percival's mother, though she looked surprisingly young to have a son that must be close to his own age. She didn't smile, nor was there any warmth in her eyes, but Lancelot didn't detect anything that could be construed as dislike either.

"Yes, please."

Wordlessly, she turned and strode away, leaving him no choice but to follow. They entered a modest dining hall dominated by a long table; she jerked her head at one of the empty places that was already set with a large bowl of hot stew, a mug of cider, and a thick chunk of black bread.

"Thank you," Lancelot said gratefully as he sat down and immediately reached for a spoon. "This is very kind."

But when he looked up, she was already gone.

He must have fallen asleep for a while, the combination of deep exhaustion, a warm fire, and a full belly making it too difficult not to lay his head on the table and rest his eyes for a brief time. At the sound of a loudly cleared throat, however, he quickly sat up and sputtered an apology with a great deal of embarrassment.

"You have nothing to be sorry about," the man said kindly. "You should have been shown to a chamber already, but my wife has been busy getting the little ones to bed. They've been in quite an uproar since they heard about what happened, as I'm sure you can imagine."

Lancelot rubbed his eyes, attempting to clear away the last of his drowsiness. "How is he? Percival?"

The older man smiled. "He's already doing better. Our healer says he should be confined to bed for a least a couple weeks, which he isn't going to like, but he'll live. What he needs now is rest, and I'd say the same is true for you. But first I wanted to thank you for what you did. Percival told me... not much, but it's clear that you saved his life, and Gordy's, too. If there's any way we can repay you..."

"There's no need…"

"Nonetheless, the least I can do is offer you a comfortable place to sleep. Will you accept that?"

He nodded gratefully, then rose and followed the older man out into the main hall and up a narrow flight of stairs. Before he knew it, he was being ushered into a cozy little chamber with a large bed and wardrobe and thick velvet hangings on the walls.

"Sleep well, Lancelot," the man said with a respectful nod. "By the way, my name is Eorl."


	61. The Coming of Spring

#  **Chapter 61: The Coming of Spring**

* * *

"Hello," Lancelot said cautiously, pushing open the door to Percival's chamber.

The other man was sitting up in bed with his injured leg propped up on a small pile of cushions, appearing quite content as he devoured a mouthful of chicken. He swallowed, then smiled and gave Lancelot a friendly nod.

"Have a seat," he said, his voice surprisingly soft for such a large man. "You just missed my father."

"He's been very kind."

Percival nodded. "Good man."

"And your mother..." Lancelot hesitated, feeling as if he should say something polite about the sour faced woman who silently served his meals.

"She's not my mother." 

"I'm sorry, I..."

Percival shrugged as he bit into a large chunk of bread. "You didn't know," he mumbled out of the side of his mouth. "My mother died when I was born. Don't remember her."

He nodded, then faltered as he tried to think of something else to say. Percival was pleasant enough, but he didn't seem to be the most talkative of men. Then again, Lancelot supposed _anyone_ would seem quiet after having just spent more than a year with Gwaine.

"We were able to salvage most of the wool," he commented suddenly, as another topic of conversation crossed his mind. "I helped your father haul it in this morning."

"Kind of you," Percival responded, then resumed eating.

Lancelot sat awkwardly for a few minutes, but as he watched Percival out of the corner of his eye, it became clear that the other man was completely at ease with the quiet atmosphere. Gradually, the uncomfortable silence became more of a companionable one, and he only felt the need to speak again when his curiosity got the better of him.

"Why are there no men? Forgive me if I'm being intrusive, but your father, well... he seems to be..." and then he trailed off, unable to imagine how to voice his thoughts without being rude.

Percival seemed to understand. "Plenty of money to pay them, but they've all run off to join King Cenred's army. He promises them grand adventures, glory, power, you name it. My father's only a commoner. He might be a successful one, but all he can give them is fair wages and a steady job. That's not enough... not anymore."

Something dark flitted across his face as he fell silent again.

"So it's just you and Eorl?"

"We had Landry, too, but you saw what happened to him. And Gordy..."

Lancelot hid a smile as Percival smirked knowingly in his direction.

The two men lapsed into another long silence as Percival finished his meal and stared out the window for a time. Suddenly, he spoke again.

"You're a good fighter."

"Thank you. So are you."

"Landry was as loyal as they come, but he wasn't very good. I always told Father he'd be the first to fall in a fight, and I was right. Sad that it happened, but..." He held out his hands helplessly as he trailed off.

"There's really no one else that can be recruited to fill his place?" Lancelot asked, finding it difficult to believe King Cenred's hold over the kingdom could be so strong that a man like Eorl wouldn't be able to hire enough men for his own household guard. "Have you put out word? Checked the inns and taverns in the surrounding area?"

"We've looked everywhere. Cenred takes them all but children and old folks, or men like Gordy who are too useless to lift a sword. Unless _you_ want to work for us, I'm afraid there's no hope for more than what we've got."

Lancelot assumed he was joking at first, but when he looked up, the other man was searching his face intently.

"I-I don't know what to say."

"I've seen you fight," Percival said, his voice suddenly eager. "Skill like yours? You're worth five or six ordinary guards at least. Between me and you, we could..."

He shook his head, remembering his previous urgency to rush to Merlin and Arthur's aid. It had faded somewhat since he'd come to Percival's rescue, but all the same, shouldn't he follow through with his plan?

Obviously anticipating the negative response, the other man looked crestfallen. 

That gave Lancelot pause – more than anything, hadn't he just wanted an opportunity to serve, to go where his skills were needed? Who would he be of more use to in this moment... Arthur, who had dozens of knights at his command and hadn't even _asked_ for his help? Or Percival and Eorl, men whom he genuinely liked, who couldn't seem to find enough guards to protect their goods, their lands, their lives?

"I'll do it," he said without further hesitation. As soon as the words left his mouth, he saw the quiet gratitude shining back at him through Percival's eyes, and he knew in his heart it had been the right decision.

* * *

"Guinevere, you're going home."

She shook her head vehemently, unsuccessfully attempting to stifle a dry, hacking cough before she spoke. "We've already had this discussion, Arthur. I'm not leaving."

"You're sick," he said firmly.

"It's just a little cold! I'll be over it in a couple of days."

"You've been coughing for a week, Guinevere, and it's not getting any better. No more arguing. This isn't a request, it's an order. Now get some rest."

Gwen wanted to argue, but she was simply too tired to deny the truth any longer. Her throat was scratchy and painful, and when she touched her forehead, it felt unusually warm. All she wanted to do was fall asleep in a warm, soft bed, then wake up to a bowl of hot soup... both luxuries she hadn't had for as long as she could remember.

"Fine," she responded grudgingly, trying in vain to find a comfortable position on the cold, hard ground. "May I return when I've recovered?"

"We'll see."

A week later, she and a trio of weary escorts finally arrived in Camelot. Slumped over her horse's neck with a burning fever and a wracking cough, she hadn't even noticed when the towers of the Citadel had become visible in the distance, nor did she react with anything more than a soft moan when she was lifted from her mount and carried through the familiar corridors that led to the physician's chamber.

Everything that followed was a blur. Pungent tasting potions were spooned into her mouth as she hovered somewhere between sleep and consciousness, followed by steaming broth and teas infused with herbs and honey. She didn't want any of them, but she was too weak to protest or even turn her head away as the elderly man hovered over her with concern marring his already deeply furrowed brow.

Her feverish dreams were vivid, poignant, becoming a far stronger reality than the short intervals she spent awake, dull eyed and silent as she waited for another escape into unconsciousness... away from the smothering heat, the painful spasms of violent coughing, and weakened, aching muscles that cried out in protest if she shifted so much as an inch. She wanted to close her eyes and forget...

Forget, and remember.

Gwen wanted Arthur... or she was _supposed_ to want him, but as the fever burned hotter and any last tendrils of logical thought faded away, she wanted Lancelot. With Arthur, she'd always been the strong one, the caretaker; there was no recollection of a time when it had been the other way around.

She appreciated that dynamic when she was healthy, the way his vulnerability made her feel capable and in control. But ravaged by illness, the memory of his face faded into shadow, replaced by visions of a man whose every look, every touch, had communicated a silent, overwhelming need to take care of _her_.

If she called for him, or for either man, she never knew it. When she finally awoke, shivering, weak, and drained, there was only Gaius sitting beside her bed, pressing a hand to her cool forehead, then closing his eyes with a sigh of relief.

Gwen had only been out of bed for a few days when the miraculous news arrived – Morgana had been found, alive and relatively unharmed, and would soon be home.

She wandered the streets restlessly as she waited, surprised that spring had come over the land when she'd been far too ill to notice the changing of the seasons. Heavy rains had replaced the driving snow, and a bit of green was gradually conquering the desolate grays and browns of winter. It lightened her heart; spring had always been her favorite season, but this year, it signified so much more than pretty scenery and comfortable temperatures.

It felt like the beginning of a new life... her health restored, her faith renewed, and the people she loved coming home in triumph from a quest that had seemed like it could only end in heartbreak.

When word arrived from Arthur to expect the party in three days, an ecstatic Uther ordered Morgana's chambers scrubbed from top to bottom, a brand new feather mattress laid upon her bed, and a wide array of perfumes, cosmetics, and baskets of succulent fruits to be delivered... anything he could think of that might increase his beloved ward's comfort. He even went so far as to pull Gwen aside and speak to her personally, emphasizing the point that Morgana should want for nothing.

In light of this unusual behavior she was _almost_ able to ignore everything she despised about the king and see him simply as a man. When he spoke to her kindly, his blue eyes shining with happiness, it was difficult to remember him as an unfeeling tyrant.

It wouldn't last, of course, but it was nice for the time being.

Preparing for Morgana's homecoming was exhausting, but it didn't occur to Gwen to mind. Throughout the long, bleak months of fruitless searching, she'd had plenty of time to examine her regrets, all the things she should have done differently. Her greatest fear had been that Morgana would be found dead, and there'd be no way to express how sorry she was for her mistakes, how much she missed the closeness between them.

But now, as if by some miracle, she'd been given another chance, one she had no intention of wasting.

* * *

_Dear Gwaine,_

_I must apologize for not speaking to you before I left. I hardly know how to explain my reasoning for departing with such urgency – I just felt it was time to find a new purpose for myself._

_I've been hired by a man named Eorl, a wool merchant with a thriving trade who requires men for his household guard. His lands are only two days ride from Oakview. I'll be able to visit from time to time if you've decided to stay on there indefinitely._

_If not, perhaps you'd be willing to join me here? The wages are more than fair, and the lodgings are surprisingly comfortable. I'm sure you'd be quite content in his service, just as I am._

_Your friend,_   
_Lancelot_

* * *

_Lancelot,_

_There's no chance of that happening. I'd rather hack off my own foot and eat it raw._

_I'm leaving here on the morrow, happy to say I have no idea where I'm going next. I'll send word one of these days._

_Gwaine_

* * *

_Dear Lancelot,_

_I'm happy to hear about your new position. Yes, I'm sure it does feel wonderful to have a sword in your hand again, doing what feels natural. That's something no one should ever take for granted._

_Yes, it's nice to be back in Camelot, but you know how things can be around here. Hardly a week goes by without some dire threat or mysterious intruder. Sometimes it's impossible to trust the people around you._

_Since you asked, Morgana is doing well since her return, and seems to have made a full recovery. Everyone else is also fine._

_I hate to cut this short, but Arthur has decided he wants to go hunting tomorrow, which of course means he expects me to wake before dawn. I'll write again soon._

_Merlin_

Lancelot frowned as he studied the letters. Was Gwaine angry at him for leaving the way he had, even after his apology? Had things in Oakview gone sour? And why was he so adamantly against the idea of working in the household guard of a common wool merchant, to the point where he seemed almost _insulted_ by the suggestion?

But he couldn't give that matter too much thought; he was far more concerned about the message he'd received from Merlin.

It was frustrating that neither of them could speak freely on certain matters in case the letters were intercepted by someone in the palace. Merlin had a way of dropping vague and often alarming references that Lancelot was left to puzzle over for weeks at a time.

"Sometimes, it's impossible to trust the people around you."

 _What did Merlin mean by that?_ he wondered to himself. He thought about all the people he knew his friend to be close to – Arthur, Gaius, Gwen, Morgana... it was impossible to believe any of them would've given him a reason not to trust them.

But then again, there was no way of knowing who else Merlin might've struck up a friendship with over the years. Lancelot could only hope that whatever betrayal he'd been hinting at was nothing serious, and that he'd be able to send word somehow if he needed help.

"Lancelot?" Percival called softly from the other side of the chamber door. "Supper."

He smiled to himself as he rose to his feet and tucked the letters safely away. If Camelot ever needed him, he'd gladly return... but in the meantime, he was content to be exactly where he was.


	62. Confusion in Camelot

#  **Chapter 62: Confusion in Camelot**

* * *

Unbelievable. Of all the bloody places Gwaine could have ended up, he'd awoken to find himself in _Camelot_.

True, he'd always wanted to see the famous city. It was one of the few destinations he'd never ventured to during his travels, and it was rumored to be a lovely place. But he still couldn't wrap his head around the strange twist of fate that had led him here... coming to the rescue of two people without even realizing the significance of who they were.

The name "Merlin" had sounded familar during the tavern brawl, but of course, Gwaine hadn't had time to figure out why as long as he'd been distracted by fists flying at his head. Merlin was just an ordinary man, however, and quite a nice one as far as he could tell. Having helped _him_ wasn't the problem.

But the other fellow? Gwaine scowled to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. For all his mighty principles, his lifelong disdain for the nobility, he'd rushed headlong into danger without a second thought to protect Prince Arthur. More than that, he'd taken a knife in the thigh thanks to his inexplicable need to play the hero.

And now, he was recovering in the palace... the _palace_ , of all bloody places?!

Well, what was done was done. Might as well make the best of it.

Gwaine pulled on his boots and rose to his feet, relieved to feel only the slightest twinge of pain when he put his full weight on his injured leg. If nothing else, he'd certainly received excellent care at the hands of Gaius, the old Court Physician. He'd have to remember to thank the man the next time he saw him.

He pushed open the shutters, sighing in relief as the warm summer breeze chased away the stuffiness of the dank bedchamber. A vague memory tickled at his mind, something Lancelot had said about the first time he'd looked out over the city of Camelot. It had been some wistful speech about standing at Merlin's open window and being captivated by the sight, feeling it was his destiny to be exactly where he was at that moment.

At the time, Gwaine had dismissed the words as sentimental nonsense, but suddenly, he could almost understand what his friend had been trying to say.

Camelot was glorious to behold, bathed in golden hues of afternoon sunshine. The sweet fragrances of high summer filled the air – plants in full flower, fertile earth, ripened fruit, and fresh baked bread. Everywhere he looked, the city was practically bursting with life as merchants called out their wares, children laughed and played, and people smiled at one another as they passed on the street.

Feeling the energy of the place thrumming through his bones, he couldn't stand the thought of remaining inside for even a minute longer.

"Good to see you up and about," Gaius remarked with a kind smile as he made his way into the outer chamber. "Are you hungry?"

He was starving, actually, but the need to explore his new surroundings was much more pressing at the moment. Shaking his head with a smile, he said, "I'm fine, thanks. Thought I'd go outside for a bit."

Gaius nodded in approval. "I'm sure some fresh air would do you good. But you might want to put on a shirt first."

* * *

 _Lancelot might be a sentimental fool, but he has good taste,_ Gwaine acknowledged somewhat grudgingly, walking through the streets of the fascinating city as he took in the sights and sounds with a quiet sense of awe. 

He'd spent most of his life roaming from place to place, always worried he'd be missing out on something better if he settled anywhere for long. But it was impossible to feel that way in Camelot… there was something about being here that left a man feeling as if everything he wanted was somehow right within his reach.

And when it came to _wanting_ , for that matter, he couldn't help admiring quite a few women he passed in his aimless wanderings. He winked at fresh young blondes and sultry brunettes, then smiled at a redhead with a smattering of freckles on her pert nose that reminded him a little of Millie. But it was one particularly lovely girl in a lavender dress that finally made him stop and look twice.

It wasn't that she was some ravishing beauty, necessarily. Her tawny skin and wealth of dark curls were certainly attractive, but it was the way she carried herself that set her apart from the rest. There was something almost regal about her, a quality that spoke of depth or wisdom, or... Gwaine wasn't sure what it was, but he felt compelled to speak with her.

He wasn't quite sure how the flower came to be in his hand, but he presented it to her with a flourish. "I believe this belongs to you."

The pretty young woman didn't miss a beat. "I don't think so. It's not my color."

Despite that, she made no move to stop him when he reached out and tucked it in her hair, which he could only take as a sign of encouragement.

"I bet you've got a whole bunch of those to hand out," she said with a knowing smirk.

The next thing he knew, he was making a complete ass out of himself in an effort to amuse her as well as hopefully receive the response he was looking for. It was strange – he had no intention of pursuing her in any serious way, but at the same time, she intrigued him. There was _something_ about her he couldn't quite figure out, yet desperately wanted to understand all the same.

Of course, that feeling could just as easily be attributed to all the herbs Gaius had been treating him with, but did it really matter? He'd never been one to turn his back on a perfectly good opportunity to satisfy his insatiable curiosity.

"Stop it," she muttered as he bowed to her with a grand flourish. "People are staring."

"Not until you tell me your name," he insisted with a mischievous grin.

"It's Gwen."

 _Gwen?_ He hesitated for a moment; why was that name so familiar? And why did it seem like he'd known it before she'd even told him? But there wasn't time to reflect on the matter just then… not with her staring at him like he was slightly insane. Oh well, that was probably a fair assessment on her part.

"There," he said in a mild voice. "That wasn't so hard now, was it?"

She was carrying a basket of laundry, which he hadn't even noticed until she tried to move past him, clearly eager to be on her way. Observing that she still looked amused rather than harassed, however, he decided he wasn't ready to let her go just yet. He kicked up the gallantry a bit, offering to carry her washing with the reasoning that no princess should have to perform such menial tasks.

 _There,_ he thought to himself smugly. _Let's see her try and resist that!_

"Unfortunately, I'm not a princess."

She was looking at him with that same expression in her eyes – friendly, amused, perhaps somewhat bewildered, but that was all. Obviously, she wasn't interested, which was fine by him. He was just having a bit of fun, enjoying the unexpected challenge she presented. 

Deciding to give it one last try, he treated her to his best charming smile, one that had _never_ failed him in the past. "Ah, but you see," he murmured, lowering his voice to a silky caress that usually had women melting in a puddle at his feet. "You are to me."

Gwen just laughed.

"This isn't working, is it?" he said with an exaggerated sigh, torn between amusement and a fresh wave of curiosity.

"No, not really," she said frankly, though her smile was kind rather than mocking. "But I like that you tried, and that you know when to give up."

He watched her walk away, impressed that she'd been able to both match his wits and resist his charms. Even if she was immune to him in a romantic sense, she was still the kind of woman he'd like to count as a friend. 

In the meantime, the day was drawing to a close and he needed to get back to the palace. For one thing, he was famished. And for another, he'd been looking forward to speaking with Merlin again ever since he'd connected the dots in his head... to talk to him about Lancelot, their mutual friend.

Out of nowhere, it hit him. He stumbled on his way up the palace steps as he realized who he'd just been attempting to seduce.

Gwen... _Lancelot's_ Gwen.

* * *

Gwaine couldn't come up with a tactful way to broach the subject, so in the end, he just blurted it out. "So," he said casually, setting down his fork as Merlin passed him a jug of ale over supper later that evening. "Have you heard from Lancelot lately?"

The other man started in surprise, and it was only his own quick hand that prevented what would've been quite an unfortunate spill. That was another point in Camelot's favor – the brew was some of the best he'd ever tasted.

"You know Lancelot?" Merlin said, staring at him in amazement. "How?"

"Traveled with him for a while," Gwaine replied nonchalantly, helping himself to another piece of chicken as he spoke. "Up until a few months ago anyway."

"I know who you are. He mentioned you in his letters, though never by name. You helped him quite a lot, didn't you?"

"I suppose you could call it that," he mumbled, taking an unnecessarily savage bite out of a piece of bread. He was still a little miffed at the way Lancelot had taken off without telling him. Perhaps it had been for the best; after all, he would've been the one making a quick exit if the two of them had run into Eorl, of all people. But still, that didn't change the fact that it was rude as hell to leave without so much as a word of farewell. 

"Doing fine, last I heard. How about you?"

"Same," Merlin replied briefly, his face softening into a fond smile. "And I'm glad for it. Especially after... well, nevermind."

Gwaine arched an eyebrow. "After giving up his woman because he thought she'd be better off with another man?"

The other man's expression of shock swiftly transformed into one of intense discomfort. "He must've told you a lot about himself."

"He did. Good man, aside from his unfortunate habit of running for the hills without warning. I met her today, you know... Gwen. Now that I've spoken with her, makes even less sense than it did before. Why would he...?"

"Did you say anything?" Merlin cut in sharply, his eyes wide. "About Lancelot, I mean?"

He frowned in confusion in response to the sudden agitation. "No..." he said slowly. "Why?"

"I… it just wouldn't be a good idea, that's all. Lancelot did the right thing, and I'm sure she's beginning to realize that. Better to let her forget what happened, and…"

Unable to help himself, he scoffed. "This is about Arthur again, isn't it?"

"Yes. No. What I mean is, it doesn't matter. Let's not talk about it anymore."

"All right," he said reluctantly, puzzling anew over the strange hold Prince Arthur seemed to have over the people around him. He was far from kind to Merlin – Gwaine had overheard enough of their interactions to come to that conclusion. So why was Merlin almost obsessively devoted to his well-being?

And now this... "Lancelot did the right thing?" Was Merlin actually _agreeing_ with Lancelot's asinine decision to walk away from the woman he loved just because Arthur apparently wanted her? As much as he tried to wrap his head around it, it just didn't make sense.

More than that, it made him strangely uncomfortable. He'd always assumed that the kind of people who mindlessly devoted themselves to the service of royals were well, _mindless_. But Merlin seemed unusually intelligent from what he'd seen so far. And Lancelot, while capable of making some idiotic choices when his cockbrained idea of honor got in the way, was far from actually _being_ a fool.

Why would two seemingly smart, capable men sacrifice so much, when they obviously received next to nothing in return?

Whatever the reason, _he_ sure as hell wasn't going to be falling into the same trap. True, he liked Camelot very much and had no plans of leaving anytime soon. But that didn't mean he had to swear his undying loyalty to the people who happened to rule it either. 

No… Gwaine was and always would be his own man. 

Meanwhile, Merlin rose to his feet, hastily clearing away the dishes with a harassed look on his face. "I'm going to be late," he muttered anxiously under his breath.

"Late for what? It must be close to nine o'clock."

"I have to check on Sir Ethan and Sir Oswald, then report to Arthur's chambers to help him get ready for bed."

Ignoring a dozen scathing comments that crossed his mind, Gwaine took the pile of dishes from Merlin's hands. "Go on then," he said in the kindest voice he could manage. "I'll take care of this."

The look of surprise in response to that small courtesy spoke volumes. He shook his head with a heavy sigh as his new friend hurried out of the room, scowling at the door as it closed behind him.

Curse the bloody nobility.


	63. Strange Estrangements

#  **Chapter 63: Strange Estrangements**

* * *

"He wants us to _what?_ " Gwaine stared at Merlin in disbelief, disconcerted by the expression of resignation on the other man's face. 

Buying food and drink for the entire tavern had seemed like a brilliant joke the night before, imagining the expression on Arthur's face when he received the bill. But there'd been no harm in it from his perspective – hell, the prince probably _sneezed_ bigger sums of gold than had been spent during one night of revelry. What was his problem?

Merlin shrugged as they walked through the palace corridorss. "He expects to be paid back, that's all. Don't worry about it."

Gwaine had to resist the urge to punch the nearest wall. _He_ was the one who'd spent the money, wasn't he? Why should it fall on Merlin's obviously overworked shoulders to suffer the consequences?

But when he voiced this thought aloud, the other man merely said, "It was my responsibility to look after you. I should have... well, I'm not sure _what_ I should've done, but he's right."

"Like hell he is!" Gwaine exploded. "I'm a grown man, Merlin. I don't need a nursemaid, and I'm damn sure not going to accept some arrogant blowhard of a prince punishing anyone else for what _I_ choose to do! If you ask me, you should tell Arthur where he can stuff all those unpolished boots of his, and…"

"I can't do that. I'd be sacked."

"I'm failing to see how that would be a bad thing."

"You wouldn't understand," Merlin replied with another shrug. "Anyway, here's the armory. I need to get to work. See you later tonight?"

Gwaine snorted aloud, shaking his head in exasperation as he followed his friend into the cavernous hall. As much as it offended his principles to follow the orders of _any_ noble, one in particular at this moment, he'd be damned if he was going to let Merlin pick up the slack for him.

"Arthur is a thoroughbred little braggart," he grumbled a few minutes later, frowning in distaste as he scrubbed at a spot of dog dung on the side of the first boot he'd grabbed.

"Why?"

"For making us do this," he replied, as if it weren't blatantly obvious. And yet it didn't seem to bother Merlin at all, something Gwaine found both increasingly mystifying and downright infuriating.

"I think it's fair."

What _was_ it about this Arthur that made the men around him devalue themselves so much? First Lancelot, and now Merlin? Why did they continually sacrifice their own needs and desires for his benefit? Gwaine obviously hadn't witnessed any interactions between Lancelot and Arthur, but if the prince had treated his other friend even half as poorly as he treated Merlin... damn it all to hell, what would make anyone so blindly loyal to a man like that?

But surprisingly enough, it was only a couple days later that Gwaine began to see Arthur's better qualities for himself.

His own punishment had been almost mindlessly predictable. Of course, it didn't matter that he'd come to the defense of a genuinely innocent man who was being threatened. Merlin was merely a servant, after all, so Gwaine wasn't surprised in the least that King Uther hadn't troubled himself to look for the truth. All that pompous jackass of a king seemed to care about was that a filthy commoner had attacked two of his precious nobles. It had angered Gwaine of course, as injustice always did, but he couldn't say he hadn't been expecting it either.

No, the shocking part had been when Prince Arthur, the man he'd dismissed as just another arrogant bully, had made a heartfelt plea in his defense, showing a sense of honor and fairness he would've never expected to find in a royal.

It wasn't enough to counteract a lifetime of skepticism, of course, but it _did_ lead to Gwaine questioning his beliefs more than he'd ever done in the past. Granted, he still wasn't particularly _fond_ of the man, but at the very least, he was forced to admit that Arthur might someday make a better king than most.

Was that why he'd chosen to return after Uther had ordered his banishment? Was he simply repaying a debt? Was it for Merlin's sake, or Gwen's? Or was there some small glimmer of faith Arthur's actions had awoken in his heart, the possibility that _all_ nobles might not be as bad as he'd always believed?

Whatever the reason, Gwaine had willingly risked his life to come to the prince's aid, joining him in combat against two knights who'd meant to bring about his death with enchanted swords. 

The pair had been unmasked as commoners in the end, a minor detail which had probably saved his life. No doubt King Uther would've ordered his execution otherwise, regardless of what the "nobles" had done. 

Again, that would've been no less than expected... but the utter lack of gratitude he'd received in response to his timely intervention had been soothed by the genuine regret in Arthur's eyes. Royalty or not, the other man had actually apologized when he'd told him that his father had refused to lift the banishment order.

It made no difference to Gwaine – his bag had already been packed before the final verdict had been given. He'd had every intention of leaving on his own terms, regardless of Uther's input on the subject.

In just a few days, he'd grown surprisingly attached to Camelot, to the point where he wouldn't have minded making his home in the city for good. But it wasn't the time for that just yet; he couldn't have stuck around with an unfeeling tyrant like Uther calling the shots, no matter how much he might have wanted to for other reasons. 

Perhaps circumstances would be different someday; in the meantime, there were plenty of other places to go, as well as people he suddenly found himself longing to see. 

"Gwaine!" Gwen called, treating him to a lovely smile as she approached from the opposite direction.

"Ah, we meet again for another farewell."

"I am sorry," she said quietly, reaching out to give his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "It isn't fair, especially after what you did for Arthur. Uther is..."

"An arrogant pig?" he helpfully suggested. "A stubborn, unfeeling bastard who needs to pull the stick out of his..."

She hastily interrupted with a loud cough, doing her best to smother a laugh. "I was _going_ to say he's a little unreasonable at times. I know Arthur spoke for you though, and I'm sure he'd have done more if he could have. He isn't like his father; he'll be a..."

"Great king," Gwaine finished for her. 

She had that look on her face again... that faraway expression she'd worn when they'd spoken of Arthur only a few hours before. But it made him curious; there was affection in her eyes, yet no hint of the passion one would expect to see in a woman who was speaking about the man she loved. There was a strange sort of detachment, as if what she felt was wrapped up in an ideal of what she thought Arthur would become someday, not so much in the man himself.

Whatever it was, there was clearly something missing in that particular relationship.

"Where will you go?" she questioned, interrupting his musings.

Curiosity had always been one of his biggest weaknesses, so he couldn't help but wonder what he might read in her features if he mentioned _another_ name... that of a man who was still hopelessly in love with her. Did she still have feelings for him, too?

"Thought I'd go visit an old friend of mine," he responded with careful nonchalance, studying her closely. "Lancelot."

There it was, that spark that had been so noticeably absent when she'd spoken of Arthur. It flared in her eyes with an intensity that surprised him, as a rapid succession of raw emotion flitted across her face – confusion, resentment, shocked disbelief, heartfelt sorrow. Stronger than all of those, however, was love. Real, passionate, unmistakable love.

And then it was gone, replaced by a mild expression that was obviously meant to convince him she was merely politely interested... as if she _hadn't_ just admitted a world of truth without speaking a word.

She cleared her throat self-consciously, then stood on her tip toes and pressed a kiss to his stubbled cheek. "Well, I wish you luck, Gwaine. I hope we'll meet again someday."

"Looking forward to it," he said with a sincerity that contradicted his casual grin.

Without further ado, he set his feet on the path that led away from Camelot, struck by the curious feeling that his life would never be quite the same.

* * *

"Where have you been?" Morgana demanded testily, glaring at Gwen as she entered the chamber with her arms full of clean linens. "You said you'd be gone for an hour. It's been close to three!"

It had been this way ever since she'd been rescued a few months before – withdrawn, unusually moody, and increasingly standoffish with the people around her. Morgana had always been a bit tempestuous, of course, but she'd usually had justifiable cause for flying into a rage in the past. She'd never been one to lose her temper over minor issues or to take her frustrations out on anyone who wasn't directly responsible for them.

These days, however, she'd taken to brooding in silence, often for days on end. She'd bluntly refuse offers for a friendly ear or any other comfort Gwen might've provided, making it abundantly clear that she wanted to be left alone. 

It wasn't like her at all... at least, not the way Gwen had always known her to be.

She tried to make excuses for the erratic behavior. After all, what the other woman had gone through during her year of captivity must have been a terrible ordeal; one could only imagine how difficult it must be to recover from an experience like that. Gwen kept telling herself that she just needed time to heal... but those reassurances seemed hollow as the months passed and nothing changed.

She'd given up on trying to heal the rift between them for the time being; any gestures she'd made in the hopes of regaining their former closeness had been coldly rebuffed.

"I'm sorry, Morgana," she said sincerely, hurrying over to help her into her dress. "It couldn't be helped."

"I'm sure you're right. Forgive me, I'm just tired, that's all."

"Of course," Gwen responded, giving her a gentle pat on the shoulder as she adjusted the folds of her silver gown. "Shall I escort you to supper?"

"What?" Morgana said distractedly. "Oh, no. You're dismissed. I'll see you in the morning, Gwen."

* * *

Gwen struggled to ignore an overwhelming feeling of loneliness as she opened her front door and entered the dark, silent house. It was a familiar sensation by now, leaving her feeling hopelessly estranged from everyone she'd ever relied upon for comfort. Morgana grew more distant by the day, and while Merlin always cheered her up, it was rare that they even had the chance to talk anymore with both Arthur and Gaius making constant demands on his time.

Arthur provided the only stability in her life these days, something she'd begun to rely on in the absence of anyone else to turn to. Their meetings were highly secretive and often rushed, but at least he was always _Arthur_ , just as she expected him to be. No strange impulses, no sudden mood swings or unpleasant surprises... sweet, simple, _safe_.

If he was sometimes a little _too_ simple, well, that could be forgiven. Arthur wasn't the type for deep, meaningful conversations, certainly not prone to openly expressing his feelings or comfortable dealing with frank emotional honesty from anyone else. 

But the disappointment she'd initially felt upon this realization was swiftly pushed away, much like a mother would excuse the shortcomings of her child. It was easier to focus on _his_ needs when it came to the finer details of their relationship… all she required in return was a feeling of stability, the simple promise that he would _be there._

For that single assurance, she could put aside any minor quibbles, replacing them with gratitude for everything he'd done to chase away the loneliness that would've been unbearable without his presence in her life. Whatever his flaws might be, Arthur had _earned_ her devotion.

With that thought in mind, she resisted the urge to dwell on her encounter with Gwaine, refusing to think too much about the name he'd spoken aloud... or the way that single word had made her feel more alive than she'd felt in as long as she could remember. 

Confused, angry, betrayed, yes. But _alive_.


	64. Unpleasant Truths

#  **Chapter 64: Unpleasant Truths**

* * *

"Percival, can you get the door?" Eorl called in a distracted voice from the floor above. "Lancelot?"

It was Lancelot who responded to the request, setting down a rusty old sword he'd been restoring as he rose to his feet. The knock sounded again as he crossed the room, a soft, curiously hesitant echo in the cavernous front hall.

"Gwaine?!" he exclaimed in surprise, opening the door to find his friend fidgeting on the other side. "What are you doing here?"

"Just thought I'd stop by for a visit," the other man replied with a casual grin, despite the noticeable anxiety in his eyes. "Do you mind if... may I come in?"

"Of course!" he said hastily, pushing the door open a little wider so Gwaine could slip past him. "Sorry, I just wasn't expecting to see you. Is everything all right?"

Gwaine ignored the question as he cast a surreptitious glance around the empty hall. "Where is she?"

Lancelot frowned in confusion. "Who?"

"My sister."

* * *

Supper that evening was a strained affair. Elsa, Percival's stepmother, stared balefully at her brother throughout the meal, while Gwaine focused on tracing his fingers around a knot in the wooden table, determined to avoid her furious gaze.

Lancelot watched him in bewilderment, unable to figure out why his friend had failed to mention Elsa in any of the letters they'd exchanged since he'd come to be employed in her household. More importantly, why did there seem to be so much animosity between them? He glanced hopefully at Percival to see if there might be some answers to be found there, but the other man seemed just as confused as he was by the silent tension.

Only Eorl seemed unperturbed, turning to Lancelot with a fond smile as he spoke. "You've been doing an extraordinary job restoring those rusted weapons you and Percival found inside the old barracks. It's just a pity we don't have enough men to wield them."

"A pity indeed," Elsa spat icily, taking them all by surprise as she rose to her feet so abruptly that her chair toppled over behind her. "No use blaming King Cenred for it either. Not when perfectly capable men like..."

"Calm yourself, my dear," Eorl said quietly, placing a soothing hand on his wife's arm. "Your brother is a man grown. He has every right to choose his own path in life, wherever it might lead him. You can't begrudge him that."

The words seemed to have no effect; Elsa was staring daggers at Gwaine's bowed head, so angry she was visibly shaking where she stood. "And what of his obligation to his family, Eorl? Hasn't lifted a finger to help us over the past decade, has he? Just wanders from place to place like some vagabond, drinking and whoring and who knows what else? He's the most selfish..."

"He's never asked us for anything either. Rich brother-in-law with a self-made fortune? He could've taken advantage of that a hundred times over by now, yet he's never requested so much as a single copper from me. You may not approve of his lifestyle, but..."

"Why am I not surprised that you'd take his side?" Elsa said to her husband in a bitter voice. "You look for the good in everyone, even where it doesn't exist. Gwaine is a lazy, irresponsible, no good drunkard. Nothing more. And I refuse to stay here and listen to you defend him. I'm going up to sit with the children!"

"Elsa..."

She ignored his weak protest, finally addressing Gwaine directly. "Unless you intend on staying here and doing your duty to your family, I want you gone by morning. I won't have you taking advantage of of our hospitality for a moment longer than is absolutely necessary."

Gwaine raised his eyes for the first time, meeting her stare for stare as he gave her a humorless smirk. "Wouldn't dream of it, dear sister."

Without another word, Elsa departed, slamming the door behind her with a deafening bang.

* * *

It was more than an hour before Eorl finally gave up on the atmosphere of forced cheerfulness he'd bravely attempted after his wife had stormed out of the room. He'd made a good effort – bringing out several jugs of his best wine and inquiring kindly about Gwaine's travels and future plans. In the end, however, he abandoned the facade, retiring with a hasty excuse about needing to be up at dawn.

Percival followed as he mumbled about how exhausted he was, and then only Lancelot and Gwaine remained, staring at each other in silence as they wondered what to do next.

"Maybe I should just be on my way," Gwaine finally said with a heavy sigh.

"Don't be ridiculous. It must be nearly 10 o'clock, and there's no moon tonight. There's no sense in risking your safety..."

"You saw what she's like. She'd burn one of her precious beds rather than have me sleep in it."

"Then stay in my room," Lancelot suggested. "This is my home, too. My room and board are taken out of my wages, after all, so it will be _my_ hospitality you'll be receiving. Would that make you feel more at ease?"

Gwaine hesitated for a long moment, then relented with a casual shrug. "All right. But I'm sleeping on the floor."

Nonetheless, Lancelot made a valiant effort to convince him to take the bed during their walk up the stairs. It was a useless endeavor; as soon as they entered the chamber, Gwaine flopped down on the rug, stretching out with an exaggerated groan of feigned contentment.

Lancelot quietly undressed and crawled beneath the blankets, even though sleep was not likely to come upon him anytime soon. There was far too much confusion to sort out in his mind, starting with the fact that he'd been staying with his friend's sister all this time and hadn't even known it. That alone would have been enough to keep him occupied, but the awful scene that had unfolded during supper was downright discomforting.

Having lived in close quarters with Elsa for several months, Lancelot had to admit she wasn't the most pleasant woman to be around. She usually walked around with a sour expression on her face, rarely troubling herself with a nice word for anyone... or any conversation at all, for that matter.

But despite her surly disposition, he'd never witnessed her being unkind to anyone who lived in the fortress. She worked tirelessly to provide for the needs of the household, frequently preparing the meals, doing the wash, or changing bed linens herself rather than leaving it to the servants. And when she was with her children, she was downright cheerful compared with the way she was the rest of the time, always devoting the best of herself to her offspring.

No, Elsa wasn't full of smiles and pleasantries, but she was a decent woman who genuinely cared for her family. For that reason, Lancelot found it significantly easier to overlook her other flaws.

"You asleep?"

"No," he replied quietly. "Just thinking."

A candle flared to life in the darkness. "You want to know why my sister hates me. Why don't you just ask me about it?"

"I wouldn't presume to question you on such a private matter."

"That's your problem, Lancelot," Gwaine responded, sounding uncharacteristically irritable as he spoke. "All manners and consideration, nothing in the way of truth. Don't you get tired of it?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Ignoring everything you'd _like_ to say or do in favor of some cockbrained idea of right and wrong that doesn't even make sense half the damn time?"

Lancelot propped himself up on one elbow and stared down at Gwaine, only to find the other man's eyes blazing with some emotion he couldn't quite define. Anger? Frustration? Pain?

"All right," he said patiently, reminding himself that his friend hadn't exactly had the most pleasant evening. "If you want to talk about it, I'd be glad to listen."

Gwaine let out a laugh that sounded almost bitter. "Of course I want to talk about it. Can't keep my mouth shut about anything, didn't you know? According to my sister, that's just the first of my many shortcomings."

"I understand you don't get along well. But maybe that's because... well, she obviously wishes you'd stay here and work for Eorl. Perhaps she misses you and that's the reason behind her hostility? It can't be easy to be separated from her family."

"That coldhearted bitch doesn't give a damn about me. Never has. She just wants me under her husband's control... hers, really, so she can make me do exactly what she wants. "

"You shouldn't speak of your sister that way," Lancelot said quietly.

"Forgive me," Gwaine said in a sarcastic voice. "I made the mistake of being honest again, didn't I? Fine, let's do it your way. My sister is a saintly woman with a heart full of kindness, and I'm a selfish, no good scoundrel for not devoting myself to her every whim. Does that sound better?"

Lancelot sighed. "I didn't mean..."

"Well, then just tell me what you want me to say."

"I do want to hear the truth, I just don't think it's necessary to..." 

"Just not the unpleasant part," Gwaine interrupted with a hollow chuckle. "Well, I'd expect no less from you."

"Unless you want to explain what you mean by that, perhaps you can find a way to speak of your sister _without_ insulting me?" Lancelot replied a little testily. He was growing weary of Gwaine's little jabs, particularly as he couldn't think of a single thing he'd done to provoke the other man.

Gwaine mumbled something unintelligible under his breath, then let out a heavy sigh. "What is there to tell? She wants me to be her puppet while I'd prefer to live my own life. For that reason, I'll never be anything but a disgrace to her."

"We don't have the men to protect this fortress properly, Gwaine. Whatever you think about your sister's intentions, she has legitimate reason for asking you to stay here and help. Maybe you could even repair your relationship with her in doing so. Why is this something you refuse to consider?"

"I've given her enough already. I spent my youth being the man of the house, doing everything in my power to make sure I could protect my family should the need arise. I did every damn thing she ever asked of me, with one exception. I refused to become a knight, you see, which makes me responsible for ruining her life. My father's reputation wasn't enough to gain her a titled marriage so many years after his death, particularly since we were penniless. And…"

"But she made a fine marriage," Lancelot pointed out. "Eorl is a kind, generous man, and quite a successful one on top of that. Surely she can't still blame you for..."

Gwaine shook his head with a wry smile. "That man could have all the gold in the world and a ten inch cock to boot, and it still wouldn't matter to her. He'll always be a commoner, and that makes the union a failure in her eyes. She would've never married him to begin with if she hadn't been forced into it."

"I don't understand. I can't see Eorl as the kind of man who would..."

"Don't worry, Lancelot. When it comes to this, at least, there's nothing I can say to destroy your illusions. My sister was already with child when she married, but not by the man you know. She'd been sharing a bed with one of those titled fellows you're both so fond of in the hopes of becoming a lady. Of course, instead of marrying Elsa when he found out the happy news, the overprivileged little bastard finally confessed he already had a wife."

"I can only imagine how terrible that must have been for your poor sister."

"Not poor for long, as it turned out. Eorl happened along at a most opportune time, a man alone with a growing son to care for. Rather than being concerned over love or purity, he only needed a woman with some common sense to help run his household. And despite my sister's charming disposition, she excels at practical things. Worked out surprisingly well in the end, if you ask me. Why she can't leave me alone to live my own life now that she has a solid man to provide for her is another matter, of course."

They lapsed into silence for a few minutes while Lancelot pondered over everything he'd been told. It was still difficult to understand how Gwaine could abandon his only family, no matter what had occurred between them in the past. Ignoring them in favor of cavorting in distant taverns? It was no wonder his sister was so angry with him.

More than that, Lancelot genuinely cared about Percival, Eorl, and even Elsa in his own way. He hadn't had many opportunities to be around people who treated him as if he truly belonged, like he was part of their own family. Didn't Gwaine understand how precious that was? How could he take them for granted?

"I lost my family when I was very young," he said quietly, reminding himself that Gwaine had encouraged him to be honest. "But I'd like to think that if I'd been fortunate enough to have a sister, I would've never abandoned her, especially when…"

And then Lancelot was on his feet without even realizing how he'd gotten there, staring directly into a pair of furious brown eyes. For a moment, he was sure Gwaine was going to take a swing at him; instead, he took a step backward, somehow managing one of his carefree smiles.

"Well, I've never been fortunate enough to have a woman who truly loved me, but I like to think I wouldn't have responded by taking off like a thief in the middle of the night. Hell, even the whores I've bedded received a few pieces of silver and a word of thanks before I went on my way."

Lancelot flinched, his hand moving to his hip in an instinctive gesture before he realized his sword was across the room. "It's not the same thing," he said furiously. "I've told you…"

"Yes, I suppose you're right. After all, I've never deceived my sister about my intentions, nor have I ever taken it upon myself to make decisions for her without her consent."

"You don't understand," Lancelot gritted out, ignoring how hollow the words sounded as he uttered them aloud. "I did what I did so she'd have a chance at a better life. I…"

"And yet she remains a servant. What do you say to that?"

"What are you talking about? It's been two years since I last saw her! By now, there's no telling..."

"I saw her less than two weeks ago, as it happens," Gwaine said, shaking his head with a soft chuckle. "That's what I came here to tell you before I was subjected to my sister's unfortunate temper and your misplaced scrutiny of my honor. I've just returned from Camelot."


	65. The Fallout

#  **Chapter 65: The Fallout**

* * *

Lancelot stared at him in disbelief, opening and closing his mouth several times before managing to gather his thoughts. "I know you're angry, but lying about something like that just to prove a point is inexcusable. You don't know..."

For the second time that night, Gwaine came dangerously close to hitting the best friend he'd ever had. That bond was both the reason for his fury and what ultimately prompted his restraint. Nonetheless, Lancelot's words hit him like daggers to the heart – when had he ever given the man a reason not to trust him?

More than a year of companionship, only to be faced with someone who didn't know him at all.

With that thought, he was struck by the realization that the same was true for just about everyone he'd ever given a damn about. None had seemed to value him for who he was... only what they wanted him to be. And while he'd never been the type to dwell on things like loneliness, the feeling was suddenly overwhelming.

The little redhead back in Oakview had quickly tired of him; after numerous questions about his future plans had failed to satisfy her, he'd come into the tavern to find her cozying up to some obnoxiously prosperous looking fellow, fingering the jeweled torque around his neck with a hungry gleam in her eye.

There'd been no point in making a scene. After all, it wasn't as if they'd agreed to do anything more than share a bed for the winter. But he'd enjoyed her company during the time they'd spent together, and given the chance, he might have even... well, he didn't know what he would've done. But being denied the opportunity to find out had left him curiously disappointed.

And Elsa... for all his hard won independence, there was something about his sister's icy, uncompromising stare that still made him feel like a child, that sad little boy who'd only wanted be loved as a brother, not treated like a weapon that could be used to cut through the obstacles that lay between Elsa and her ambitions.

No, Lancelot _didn't_ understand. How could he? His sense of honor, duty, and loyalty was painted in black and white, with little comprehension of what those words actually _meant._ To him, those concepts merely defined the services he should provide, or sacrifices to be made on behalf of another. He couldn't see that any honorable commitment, be it to king, family, friend, or lover, was something that had to go both ways if it was to have any meaning at all.

Above all things, it was a bond of trust.

"Lies, eh?" he said quietly, giving Lancelot a humorless smirk. "My friend... you're a bloody coward."

Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode out of the chamber.

* * *

Stunned and furious, Lancelot didn't attempt to follow Gwaine, realizing that any further interaction would only lead to a physical altercation. Instead, he paced the length of the chamber, eventually falling on his bed with a frustrated grunt as the storm of angry words continued to batter away at his consciousness.

Well, _one_ word, really... the worst definition a man could possibly ascribe to another.

Coward.

It followed him into a fitful slumber, invading his dreams with its merciless refrain. _Coward, coward, coward..._

* * *

When Lancelot awoke just a couple hours later, shielding his bleary eyes from the bright morning sunlight, Gwaine was nowhere to be found. It wasn't until he rose and started to dress that he noticed a thick square of parchment lying on the bedside table.

Apprehensive yet curious, he sank back on the bed, immediately recognizing the bold, slightly messy script as he unfolded the letter.

_Lancelot,_

_I considered following your example and not saying anything at all before leaving, but I'm afraid that's never been my style._

He winced, then forced himself to continue reading.

_Putting my farewells in a letter isn't what I'd prefer either, but this seems like a better solution than resorting to my fists to get my message across. Don't get me wrong – I would've been glad to stick around and pummel you bloody if I'd thought that might've knocked some sense into that thick skull of yours, but let's be realistic, eh?_

_Hmmm, where to begin? Well, if I know you as well as I think I do, you spent most of the night fuming over the fact that I called you a coward..._

Lancelot shifted uncomfortably.

_... rather than giving much thought to anything else I said. Am I correct?_

_Let me be clear before we go any farther – I've never met a more courageous man when it comes to risking his life in combat, or standing up for what he believes to be right. You're as honorable as they come on that count, my friend, and I admire you for it._

Smiling to himself, he breathed a sigh of relief as he flipped to the second page. Gwaine had just been angry, not…

_But you're still a bloody coward._

He swore aloud as he balled the letter up in one fist, tossing it aside as he stalked out of the room.

* * *

Nobody mentioned Gwaine's abrupt departure as they sat down to share breakfast, almost as if their uninvited guest had never been there at all. Elsa maintained her typical sour silence, staying only long enough to nibble on a piece of toast before hurrying upstairs to check on her girls. Percival was quiet as usual, focused on devouring the mountain of ham, eggs, and sausages in front of him.

Meanwhile, Eorl chattered away cheerfully, rattling off a list of chores for the younger men to attend to that day.

"Lancelot, can you continue your restoration efforts on that old weaponry? I was thinking we might be able to sell it for a tidy profit, considering the quality of your work."

He smiled, appreciating the praise. "Of course."

"And Percival, why don't you see about replacing that rickety wagon wheel we were discussing the other day?"

That was responded to with a grunt of assent.

"Very good," Eorl said in a satisfied voice, pausing to take a long drink of cider. "Other than that, I think we should..."

His words were interrupted by loud, frantic pounding on the fortress door.

* * *

"Here, have a drink," Eorl said kindly, placing a tankard in front of the man who was still wild eyed and panting as he sank heavily into the nearest chair. He'd burst into the main hall without ceremony, practically incoherent as he'd attempted to deliver his urgent message. Something having to do with Cenred was all any of them had been able to make out as he'd struggled for composure.

He drank his ale with a series of loud slurps, then set the empty tankard on the table before looking up at Eorl with wide, fearful eyes.

"Your brother's settlement has been attacked. Cenred's army. No one was spared, not even the children. There are few survivors."

For a moment, the hall was deathly silent.

"Why?" Eorl finally whispered.

"Taxes."

"Taxes?! But my uncle has always... he wouldn't neglect to..."

The stranger gave Percival a sad look. "I know. I've been working for Algar for more than five years, and I've never known a more upstanding man. It was no fault of his, I assure you. Cenred..." 

He trailed off, shaking his head in disgust before he continued. "Not that he's ever been a great king, mind you, but he was tolerable in the past. Stayed out of people's business as long as they abided by the law. Now that he's gotten himself entangled with that witch though, they say she's the one giving the commands these days. Gathering men and amassing a fortune to help her sister take the throne of Camelot. Cenred is nothing more than a pawn in her schemes."

Other than a sharp intake of breath, Lancelot remained silent. This wasn't the time for his own fear, not with Eorl and Percival both grief stricken and stunned at the loss of their own family members. He'd write to Merlin as soon as possible, comforted in the meantime by the fact that Camelot boasted the most well defended fortress in five kingdoms. For now, there were more immediate concerns.

"So what...?" Eorl started hesitantly.

"King's started sending troops out, demanding the seizure of all valuables from his most prosperous citizens. And if they refuse..."

There was no need to finish the statement. Comprehension dawned in Eorl's eyes, swiftly followed by an expression of helpless fury.

"Percival," he said quietly, clearly struggling to control the trembling in his voice. "Lancelot. I want you to go with this man – forgive me, I didn't catch your name... Lucan? Yes, go with Lucan and see what you can do to assist the survivors. Anyone who doesn't have a place to go is welcome to shelter here with us."

"And you, Father?" Percival questioned, frowning in sudden concern.

Eorl let out a heavy sigh. "I will remain here. I can't leave Elsa and the girls unprotected."

"But what if...?"

"There are innocent victims who need our help. Turning our back on them is not an option. Just be careful, and return as quickly as you can."

* * *

Lancelot rode quietly beside Percival with Lucan bringing up the rear, taking the road at the swiftest pace possible without running the risk of tiring their horses before reaching their destination.

Algar... the name was familiar, though he'd never actually met the man. Percival often spoke fondly of his uncle, aunt, and three young cousins, obviously feeling a much closer bond with them than he did with Elsa's sullen brood. Algar was something of a legend in his family's eyes, a man who'd succeeded in taking charge of a decrepit old manor and its surrounding lands, eventually creating the most fruitful large scale farming venture to be found in fifty leagues.

It had been Algar who'd given his younger brother the means to start his wool business, a fact that Eorl often boasted proudly of when he'd had a little too much ale.

"How much longer?" Lancelot questioned above the endless pounding of horse hooves.

"Few more hours," Percival grunted in reply.

As it turned out, it was close to nightfall when a thick column of smoke became visible in the distance. Lucan took the lead then, turning off onto a wide, winding pathway that seemed to go on forever, then ended abruptly just a few dozen paces away from the charred foundations of what had obviously been the main house.

Lucan frowned in consternation as they dismounted, his eyes fixed on the smoking barn and ruined storage sheds that lay just beyond.

"I don't understand. These buildings were unharmed when I left. Cenred's men were already gone by then. I... I don't understand."

"Came back for the rest, they did," answered a bitter voice, as an elderly man came stumping out of the shadows. "All the grain and the animals too. Then they chucked the bodies inside and set fire to it all, the miserable bastards."

"My aunt and uncle?" Percival said in a shaky voice. "The children?"

The old man shook his head. "I'm sorry."

And then he turned to face the nearby forest, cupping his hands around his mouth as he called forth a summons. "You lot can come out! Eorl's son is here. He'll take care of us now."

Unfortunately, Percival didn't appear to be capable of taking care of anyone at that moment. He stood like a statue, white faced and unresponsive, as the bedraggled survivors emerged to crowd around him. His lips started to move in answer to their bewildered pleas, yet no sound emerged.

"What shall we do?"

"Where are we supposed to go?"

"How can we hope to feed ourselves now that the crops have been stolen?"

Lancelot quickly interceded, stepping up beside Percival and speaking in a calm, quiet voice. "Are there any others?"

A plump older woman with a nasty gash on her cheek stepped forward. "We're all that's left, sir."

There were six survivors other than Lucan – the elderly man and woman they'd spoken with already, in addition to two skinny youths and a much younger woman who was clutching a toddler in her arms.

"That's more than twenty dead," Lucan commented to Lancelot under his breath.

"There's nothing we can do about that now," he responded grimly. "We need to find shelter for the night, and then make for home first thing in the morning."

"How?" Percival suddenly blurted out. "No food. No wagon. Old folks and a baby? The journey is more than twenty leagues over hard ground. We'll never be able to..."

"We'll find a way," Lancelot said quietly.

* * *

It took three days to lead the small group of survivors back to Eorl's fortress. Even though the horses were given to the elderly, the overwrought refugees required frequent opportunities to stop and rest. Food wasn't exactly plentiful, but thanks to the small game Percival managed to kill along with a few roots and berries, no one went hungry.

But when they finally made it home, Lancelot's relieved sigh was replaced by a gasp of shock, immediately followed by the sickening realization that they'd come too late. The body was lying facedown among the splinters of what had once been a heavy oaken door, brought down by the arrows that still protruded from his broad back. That was far from being the only sign of recent devastation, of course, but it was all that mattered in that moment.

The master of the house was dead.

He swallowed hard, blinking away the moisture in his eyes as Percival cried out in anguished disbelief.


	66. Harsh Epiphanies

#  **Chapter 66: Harsh Epiphanies**

* * *

Pausing to wipe the sheen of sweat from his brow, Lancelot wrapped his blistered hands around the shovel handle one last time and patted down the mound of freshly turned earth at his feet. He lingered for a moment, picturing Eorl's face with a sharp pang of grief, then turned with a weary sigh and walked back to the fortress.

"Is it done?" Elsa questioned abruptly, standing there waiting as he moved aside the planks that had been set up as a temporary door and entered the main hall. That was yet another task he needed to see about as soon as possible, but not until he'd had something to eat and a little rest.

"Yes."

She gave him a stiff nod. "Food's on the table."

Lancelot thanked her, then hesitated for a moment. "Has he come out yet?"

An expression of irritation darkened her features. "No, he has not. Must be nice to have the luxury of sitting around doing nothing while the rest of us are working our fingers to the bone."

"He's just lost both his father and his uncle," Lancelot said softly. "I don't think he knows how to cope with such a devastating blow."

Elsa glared at him. "And I've just lost my husband! You don't see me shutting myself away when there are survivors to care for, food to prepare, and a home in shambles around me, do you?"

He shook his head, then mumbled something that might've been an apology before walking away to retrieve his supper.

It had been two days since they'd returned to the fortress, along with the small group of refugees who'd managed to survive the attack on Percival's uncle's lands. Of course, the loss of Eorl had been a terrible shock, but other than that, the invasion of King Cenred's men had proven far less severe than it could have been.

Unlike his brother Algar's sprawling manor house, which had been constructed entirely of wood, Eorl's home was a solid stone fortress and much better suited to withstanding a violent assault. While the soldiers had helped themselves to the main food stores, there were quite a few hidden cellars that had escaped their notice. Eorl had been wise enough to conceal plenty of provisions in case of invasion, as well as a large chunk of his considerable fortune.

It was in one of these hiding places that Elsa, her daughters, and the small staff of servants had found refuge, ensuring that no one other than the master himself had come to any harm.

Why _had_ Eorl chosen to place himself in danger rather than taking shelter with the rest of his household? It seemed the height of foolishness at first glance, yet Lancelot was fairly certain he knew the answer.

If Cenred's men had discovered what was known as an inhabited fortress to be empty upon their arrival, they would've searched relentlessly until someone had been found. And if they'd proven unsuccessful in their efforts, they would've returned at some later time, determined to catch the owner by surprise. He would've been slaughtered anyway in repayment of the insult of evading them, and how many other innocent lives might have been lost in the process?

No, Eorl had sacrificed himself to protect the others, hopefully dying with the comforting knowledge that Cenred's men were unlikely to return anytime soon. The fortress had been stripped of its assets as far as they knew, and the master himself was dead. Why bother coming back just to terrorize a handful of women and servants if there was nothing else to gain?

It was difficult not to feel humbled in the face of so much selflessness, to push away the overwhelming need to sit down and weep over the loss of such a courageous man. Lancelot probably would have, in truth, if there hadn't been so many practical matters to worry about.

His own grief would simply have to wait.

* * *

"Percival?" he called softly, pushing open the chamber door.

The other man was sitting in a chair by the window, staring out into the nothingness of a moonless night. He grunted briefly, but didn't turn around or acknowledge his presence in any other way. Realizing his friend hadn't shown any improvement, Lancelot moved closer, looking down at him with a great deal of concern.

"Have you eaten anything?"

Percival didn't respond.

"Have you slept at all?"

"Mmm."

Hesitantly, Lancelot laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I know how you must be feeling, but your father wouldn't have wanted you to..."

"It's my duty to avenge him," Percival interrupted tonelessly. "I'm his only son."

"I would be only too happy to aid you if that were possible, but you know as well as I do that it's not. We're speaking of an army here... hundreds, possibly _thousands_ of well-armed, fully trained soldiers. There'd be no chance of succeeding against..."

Percival let out a hollow chuckle. "I'm not talking about _succeeding_ , Lancelot. Do you think my father believed he had any chance against the men who killed him? But he faced them anyway, didn't he? Because it was his duty. Because it was the _right_ thing to do."

"That's different," Lancelot countered. "He was protecting his home, his family. If you were to go out and face Cenred's army on your own, what purpose would that serve other than a needless death? If you truly wish to honor your father, there are better ways."

"What ways?"

"By surviving. By valuing your life as much as he did, and making sure his sacrifice wasn't in vain."

Percival hesitated, then gave a curt nod. "I think I'll try to get some sleep now."

* * *

Lancelot's thoughts were heavy as he closed the door to his own chamber, stripping off his mail and sweat stained clothing. As weary as he was, he expected to fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow; instead, he stared blankly at the ceiling as his mind offered up one dismal musing after another, still struggling to come to terms with all the tragedy he'd witnessed.

Had it been less than a week ago that he'd stood with Gwaine in this very chamber, bickering over his relationship with his sister or other such nonsense? It all seemed so trivial now – why had he continued to goad the man, questioning his honor rather than giving him the benefit of the doubt and letting it go?

Suddenly, he realized how much he missed his friend, despite the angry words that had passed between them. With no company beyond Elsa's bitter jabs, Percival's determined withdrawal, and the silent, white faced survivors that wandered about the fortress like ghosts, hearing Gwaine's bracing laughter would do him a world of good right about now. And Gwaine _would_ laugh, even in the face of tragedy – not in a disrespectful way, but comforting somehow. He'd smile and offer encouragement, whatever it took to prevent Lancelot from surrendering to even a moment of despair.

Gwaine always seemed to know exactly what another person needed, even (and perhaps especially) when they hadn't figured it out for themselves yet. Whether that was a strong drink, friendly advice or a hard kick in the backside, Gwaine would deliver without fail.

Upon the heels of this thought, Lancelot finally recognized the truth he'd been missing while he'd been fixated on his own definition of honor. With a great deal of shame, he was forced to admit that when someone needed Gwaine, truly _needed_ him, the man was there without question. Perhaps it wasn't in the way they might have expected, but he was _there_.

Most of all, Gwaine had never had anything but the best of intentions.

Rising stiffly, he retrieved the letter he'd discarded a few days before. After lighting a candle, he crawled beneath the blankets again, then smoothed out the crumpled parchment and began to read.

_But you're still a bloody coward._

The words didn't sting any less the second time around, but he forced himself to continue nonetheless.

_Despite what you might think, I don't say this to insult you. I'm trying – as I've always tried – to get you to recognize truths you refuse to acknowledge about yourself. Why? Hell if I know. Probably comes down to me giving a damn, even when I wish I didn't._

_You question my honor, while I'm left to wonder if you even understand what it is to be honorable, or loyal, or any of those other ideals you seem to value so highly._

_Trust, Lancelot. Without trust, the rest of it is meaningless. Your sense of honor might prompt a well-meaning selflessness on your part (to idiotic degrees, truth be told), but you never allow anyone else to have any input on the matter. You decide what's right and that's that – there's no room for you to consider another point of view._

_That is why I call you a coward. You cling to these ridiculous ideals of right and wrong, afraid to look beyond them for fear of... hell if I know. I suppose you'll have to figure that out for yourself._

_Every man has his flaws, but in your case, you damage others (and yourself most of all) by trying to make everything exactly the way you think it should be. Take me, for example. You've trusted me with your life more than once, depended on me for survival when you were unable to care for yourself. I believe I've proven myself to be an honorable man, but still, you reject anything about me that discomforts you, quick to assume the worst rather than having faith in me when it comes to things you might not understand._

_You trust when it's easy, when it suits you... then snatch that trust away the moment your lofty ideals are the least bit threatened._

Lancelot paused, shaken by the power of Gwaine's words as they penetrated defenses he'd been erecting for a lifetime. The impulse to hold the parchment to the candle flame, to burn the letter to cinders and escape the truths contained within, was overwhelming. He resisted the urge, however, realizing that by doing so, he'd only be proving the truth of his own cowardice.

_You see what you want to see, rejecting anything that might lead you to question your own beliefs or the choices you've made. For that peace of mind, you'd look a friend in the eye and call him a liar without justification. Tell me, Lancelot... is that what you call honor? Are you so afraid of being wrong that refusing to listen seems better than facing up to the things you don't want to hear?_

_Speaking of which, let's discuss my recent visit to Camelot… the one that never happened? No, I never met a man named Merlin who happens to have twinking blue eyes and a strange fondness for neckerchiefs. I didn't sleep in his little room off the physician's chamber, nor could I describe it to you right down to the blanket covering his narrow bed. Cream colored wool with brown stripes? Just a lucky guess._

_I didn't attempt to seduce a lovely young maidservant with black curls and soft brown eyes, only to realize my efforts were for nothing when she introduced herself as "Gwen." I wouldn't be able to pinpoint exactly how she smells – sunshine, lavender, and sweetness, nor would I know anything about the tiny mark to the right of her nose that just begs to be kissed._

_(Don't worry, I didn't.)_

_… and I suppose I didn't mention your name in passing, only to come to the conclusion that she still harbors some very strong feelings for you._

The color drained from Lancelot's face as he read those lines several times over; finally moving on, he hastily skimmed over the basic details of Gwaine's visit – fond impressions of Merlin, a few rather less than complimentary remarks about Arthur, along with a downright scathing rant where Uther was concerned. Yes, the man had definitely been in Camelot.

_Saying farewell to Gwen was bittersweet, as I enjoyed her intelligence, sense of humor, and most of all, her kindness. If nothing else, let me commend you for your exceptional taste… though it does make all that "for her own good" nonsense even more difficult to understand. I didn't meet some silly, empty headed girl, but a clever and capable woman who seems to know exactly what she wants and what is best for her. I figured this out within five minutes of speaking with her... how can someone who has known her for years fail to see it?_

_This brings me back to my earlier point... trust. Face the truth, Lancelot. You didn't leave that woman because it was the "right" thing to do. You did it because you couldn't find value in yourself next to a man like Arthur. Like it or not, there's a big difference between the two. For some reason, you think so little of yourself that you feel the only thing you have to offer is what you're willing to sacrifice._

_That's really why you wouldn't let her choose for herself, isn't it? Because if she'd decided she wanted to be with you, she'd be wrong. Her reasoning wouldn't have even been a factor in your mind._

_That's your greatest flaw, Lancelot – no matter how good your intentions might be, you'll never understand what it means to be truly honorable until you learn that it isn't about deciding what is right for anyone else. It's about being true to the people you care about no matter what the future might bring... valuing not only their immediate safety, but also their feelings, opinions, and their right to make their own choices in life._

_Yes, even if the choice is you._

_Honor isn't about always doing the right thing. It's about being there for good or ill and allowing both yourself and others the freedom of getting it wrong sometimes. It's recognizing that we're all flawed (you no more than any other) and just doing the best you can to support the people you love. I hope you come to understand that someday._

_For my part, I forgive you for any insults directed at me over the course of our disagreement. I hope you can do the same, and that you understand my purpose in writing this letter. I only want you to face the truth… as your friend, it's frustrating as hell to see how much unnecessary suffering you bring upon yourself._

_More than anything, I can't help thinking that if you stopped trying so hard to prove your worth, to **be** a good man, you'd finally come to the realization that you already **are** one._

_Until we meet again,_   
_Gwaine_

As the letter fell from his limp fingers, Lancelot buried his face in his hands and wept.


	67. The Coming Storm

#  **Chapter 67: The Coming Storm**

* * *

Exhaustion provided a sweet relief for Lancelot, allowing for a restful sleep despite his inner turmoil. He awoke with the dawn, though he chose to linger in bed as he struggled to come to terms with the chaos swirling around in his mind.

Strangely enough, admitting the truth behind Gwaine's words was easy. Perhaps he was finally strong enough to face his shortcomings, for the sense of relief he felt as a result was even more overwhelming than the pain of realizing just how wrong he'd been on countless occasions.

_…if you stopped trying so hard to prove your worth, to **be** a good man, you'd finally come to the realization that you already **are** one._

Of all the observations the other man had made about his character, none resonated more than that one. All his life, he'd fought an endless battle to validate his existence. His quest for knighthood, his firmly held belief in honor and sacrifice... even leaving Gwen had largely been another way of showing the world how selfless he was willing to be.

Yes, he'd always clung to a definite idea of right and wrong, but how many of those principles had been based upon what he truly believed, rather than existing as a set of rules for the man he thought he _should_ be? At heart, he'd never felt worthy in his own right, which was why he'd latched onto those codes of knightly conduct so fiercely in the past.

And his lack of trust, not in others but in himself, was why he'd always resisted with equal ferocity when it was suggested that honor and goodness were _not_ so black and white. He'd never trusted in his ability to make that distinction on his own without some irrefutable standard to back him up.

Perhaps it went back to his childhood, the guilt of surviving when his family had been brutally slaughtered. Grief had a way of changing a person forever, particularly a young man who'd spent years thereafter desperate to prove his strength, his bravery, his willingness to devote his life to selfless duty and personal sacrifice. He'd never given much thought to his own happiness in the endless, often futile effort to stop blaming himself for the crime of being alive.

For most of his life, he'd been unable to escape the weight of a self-inflicted debt that no amount of tireless service or honorable conduct could have erased. But was that fair? Life was a gift that was given or taken away without rhyme or reason, proven by the fact that innocent children perished while those who were least deserving often lingered until a ripe old age. Didn't that make it folly to fault oneself for what amounted to a simple twist of fate?

Yes… and understanding that simple truth at long last changed everything.

Pushing the blankets aside, Lancelot sat up and reached for his trousers. There were numerous concerns to be dealt with – letters he needed to write and apologies to be made, seeing to the ongoing repair efforts around the fortress, what else could be done to assist the survivors...

For now, he needed to see Percival.

* * *

Upon finding Percival's chamber empty, Lancelot rushed down the stairs to search for his friend.

"He's gone," Elsa said brusquely.

"What? Where did he go?"

"Rode out of here just after dawn, mumbling some nonsense about his 'duty.' Funny how 'duty' seems to translate to 'leave my family in their time of need.'"

It took all the strength he possessed not to snap at the ill-tempered woman, but he managed with the silent reminder that there were more important things to worry about at the moment. Hurrying back up the stairs to gather a few neccessities, he started in surprise at the cold words that came from the doorway as he shoved a change of clothing into his satchel.

"You're deserting us, too. I might have known."

"I'm not deserting anyone," he responded quietly, buckling his scabbard around his waist. "My friend is distraught over his father, to the point where I fear he's beyond rational thought. I intend to stop him from doing something rash."

"Such as drinking himself into a stupor like my worthless brother?"

"No. Like getting himself killed. Please step aside."

Elsa did as he asked, though her features were still clouded with resentment. "I suppose you don't care what happens to us then, perfectly content to leave women and children alone and in peril. So much for honor..."

Lancelot silenced her with a cutting look. "You have plenty of provisions and the means to hide if need be. You have a fortune in gold, more than enough to ensure your safety elsewhere if you don't feel comfortable here. You are far from helpless, nor are you in any immediate danger. I'm afraid the same can't be said for Percival, which doesn't seem to concern you in the least. Do not speak to me of honor."

"But…" she trailed off with a haughty sniff.

"Oh, and another thing," he said as he slung his satchel over one shoulder. "Your brother is far from worthless, even if you're too blind to see it for yourself."

Without another word, he turned and left the fortress.

Lancelot did feel guilty as he rode away, but it ceased to be for Elsa's sake as he began to understand what Gwaine had been trying to tell him about his sister. Her lofty expectations and refusal to take responsibility for herself were something quite different than genuine need. A man might have a certain amount of responsibility to his family, but that didn't give them the right to abuse the privilege, nor to degrade him for not submitting to their every demand.

He certainly had _a lot_ to apologize for the next time he saw his friend.

Percival's tracks were easy enough to follow, thanks to a recent rainstorm that had turned the normally hard packed roads into pathways of soft mud. He'd imagined a grueling journey lasting for days, perhaps even weeks; in the end, he'd only ridden a few hours when he encountered a small village where the tracks stopped abruptly in front of the tavern.

Sighing in relief, he smiled to himself as he walked in the door, immediately spotting Percival as the other man lifted a large tankard to his lips. 

In one way, at least, Elsa had been right.

"Figured you'd come," he mumbled, forcing Lancelot to lean closer to make out the words. Unlike other men, who grew louder and more boisterous when they were in their cups, Percival only became more soft spoken. Anyone who knew him could tell he was well and truly drunk when they could hardly hear him at all.

"What happened? Why did you leave?"

Percival took another long drink before responding. "Couldn't stay there any longer. Father's gone… there's nothing left there for me anymore. I went into his office before I left. I was his heir, you know. Signed it all over to Elsa. The land, the gold, all of it."

"That was kind of you. But..."

"I have no love for Elsa, but I wish her no harm. She was his wife, after all. I couldn't turn her out, nor could I bear to saddle myself with her constant presence, which would've been inevitable if I'd claimed my inheritance. You understand?"

Lancelot nodded. "I do."

"So now, I make my own way," Percival continued with a sad smile. "I don't know where I'll go or what I'll do when I get there, but I brought enough gold to sustain me until I figure it out."

"When you're unsure of where to go," Lancelot said, accepting his own tankard from the barmaid as she passed their table, "the best course of action is usually to stay where you are. What is this place called?"

"Don't know about the tavern, but the village is Haldor."

Lancelot nodded. "Haldor. Your new home, at least for now."

"And you?" Percival said softly, sounding surprisingly vulnerable as he spoke.

"I have no intention of leaving your side until you're well and truly settled. Perhaps not even then, depending on where you decide to go."

"Thank you. You're a good friend, Lancelot."

"Not always," he said truthfully, returning the other man's smile with a slighty self-conscious grin of his own. "But I'm working on it."

* * *

Lancelot pulled quill and parchment from his satchel, intent on writing to Merlin. Providing the means to contact him at his new location was the easy part – beyond that, he couldn't be sure what was safe to put in a letter. If King Cenred really did intend on invading Camelot, there was no telling how much access his spies might have to missives exchanged between the kingdoms. And of course, letters addressed to the palace would be of particular interest.

In the end, he simply wrote:

_Be ever vigilant and encourage our mutual friends to do the same. Peaceful times are something we should never take for granted, especially when they might be slipping through our fingers._

It wasn't much, but would have to suffice for the time being.

He set aside the finished letter, then retrieved a second sheet of parchment, wetting his quill once more. Determined to put things right, he'd already written the first few sentences before remembering that the intended recipient had left no hint of his next destination. He hesitated for a moment, then reached for the first letter again.

 _If you happen to hear from Gwaine,_ he added as a footnote. _Please mention that I'm anxious to speak with him and let him know where I can be found._

Lancelot nodded in satisfaction as he sealed the message. It was still surprising that people from such different parts of his life had become acquainted, especially since he hadn't been there to witness it himself. But it was nice somehow... like his life was slowly coming together according to some greater design he couldn't hope to understand just yet.

The final letter he intended to write was by far the most difficult to articulate.

_Dear Gwen,_

_I am truly and sincerely sorry for..._

No, that didn't work.

_I made an unforgivable mistake when I left you the way I did. Please know that..._

Know _what?_ That not only had he treated her abominably, but that it had taken him more than two years to admit to it?

_I still love you with every fiber of my being._

And what was the point of telling her so in a letter? She'd had more than two years to heal and move on with her life. Even if she _wasn't_ with Arthur, which was a reasonable assumption due to the fact that she was still a servant, that didn't mean she hadn't found happiness with someone else by now.

_… only to come to the conclusion that she still harbors some very strong feelings for you._

As much as Gwaine's words filled his heart with hope, it was necessary to be to be realistic. "Strong feelings" could mean anything... that she would be willing to give him another chance, perhaps, but it was just as likely that she was still furious over his abandonment, or even that she hated him.

However she felt, she deserved more than a letter. Too much time had passed, too many things were uncertain... this was a conversation that needed to happen face to face, not something that could be resolved on a bit of parchment.

 _I need to return to Camelot,_ he thought to himself as he tucked his writing supplies back in his satchel. _And as soon as Percival is back on his feet, that's exactly where I intend to go. I've stayed away for far too long already._

* * *

Merlin's response arrived more than a month later, after a great deal of anxious waiting on Lancelot's part. He opened it right at the table where they'd been eating supper, eagerly scanning the familiar messy script.

"Your friend in Camelot?" Percival questioned.

Lancelot nodded briefly, then read aloud:

_I know dark clouds are brewing, but there's little I can do until the storm breaks._

Percival frowned in bewilderment. "What does that mean?"

"Merlin is aware that there's a threat to the kingdom, but he's powerless to act at this time."

"Right. What else does he say?"

_Conditions are far more dangerous in close proximity to bad weather, of course, but I'm doing all I can to find shelter for those in need._

Percival lifted his eyebrows.

"The traitor is someone close to the king or possibly Prince Arthur," Lancelot explained, "which makes the situation much more precarious. Nonetheless, Merlin is searching for a solution."

"I thought... isn't he just a servant?"

Lancelot hesitated. "Merlin is blessed with... uncommon wisdom and loyalty. Arthur trusts his judgment far beyond any ordinary servant."

_This is very much like a storm you encountered years ago, though you'd probably remember it as a gentle summer breeze. Memory is so much sweeter than truth, after all, and time has a way of changing many things we thought we understood._

Setting down the letter, Lancelot let out a heavy sigh. "I didn't want to believe it, though I've had my suspicions for quite some time."

"What is it?" Percival asked him curiously.

"The traitor is the Lady Morgana."


	68. The Dawning of War

#  **Chapter 68: The Dawning of War**

* * *

Gwen couldn't recall a time in her life when she'd felt so... _powerless._

Tending to her duties like everything was normal was only growing harder as her relationship with Morgana became increasingly strained. Dealing with the other woman's temperamental outbursts was now a daily occurrence, demanding a level of restraint Gwen had never had to rely on in the past.

But in more recent times, it had become obvious that something darker lay behind this erratic behavior, proving that Morgana wasn't to be trusted... not anymore.

Discovering her secretly using magic on several occasions had definitely been cause for suspicion, but when King Uther had caught Arthur and Gwen sharing a private moment deep in the forest, she'd known it was no mere coincidence... her former friend really _did_ have ill intentions. This had been unmistakably confirmed by the way Morgana had reveled in the idea of her own maidservant being executed for sorcery.

She still felt sick whenever she remembered the cruel smirk she'd witnessed on Morgana's face that terrible day. There had been no trace of the compassionate spirit she'd admired for as long as she could remember, only a cold, calculating expression that had chilled her to her bones.

Why? What had she ever done to make Morgana behave so viciously toward her? Yes, there'd been distance between them before her disappearance, but surely that wasn't sufficient cause for this level of spite, was it?

Maybe she wanted Arthur for herself, and had become irrationally jealous when she'd discovered he had feelings for Gwen? No, that couldn't be it – they'd never behaved like anything more than siblings. She might have enjoyed toying with Arthur when they'd been younger, but she'd never pursued him like she had with other men she'd desired.

Whatever the reason behind the hostility, realizing her friend was truly lost to her was the loneliest feeling Gwen had ever known – more than living without her father or brother, even harder than being abandoned by Lancelot. During all the changes in her life, Morgana had been the one constant presence... kind, understanding, a source of unyielding strength.

The person she'd loved was gone now, leaving a stranger in her place... an unknown being with achingly familiar eyes and a face Gwen knew as well as her own, yet couldn't seem to recognize anymore. That was the cruelest part of all, living with the constant reminder of a voice, a scent, a smile belonging to someone who no longer seemed to exist.

Meanwhile, Elyan had returned to Camelot and taken up his place at their father's forge. Gwen was overjoyed to have her brother back, of course, but it had quickly become obvious Elyan had changed significantly during the time they'd spent apart. She often found herself keeping company with yet another stranger wearing the face of a loved one, though at least Elyan never seemed to have any ill intentions.

On the contrary, he'd spoken of Arthur with glowing admiration ever since the prince had come to his rescue and invited him back to Camelot to live, all while praising his sister for capturing the affections of such a worthy suitor. It was a little unnerving for Gwen at first; the brother she remembered had openly disliked those of higher rank.

He'd never shown any particular interest in swordplay either, so it had been with a great deal of surprise that she'd come home one day to find him engaged in a friendly sparring match in the street. Elyan had seemed to possess a fair amount of knowledge in the art of combat, displaying a level of skill that would've required years of practice to achieve.

When she'd questioned him on the matter, he'd only replied with, "It's a rough world beyond Camelot's walls, Gwen. I never knew how good I had it until I was left to my own devices out there. A man has to know how to defend himself."

"You could've come back home, you know."

Elyan had shaken his head with a smile. "No, I couldn't have... not without proving myself first. I don't intend on being a blacksmith forever, Gwen."

Gwen had lapsed into silence, wondering exactly what it was that made men feel like they had to go out in search of some undefined proof of worthiness in order to feel complete. She might've asked her brother this very question, but it threatened to touch a little too deeply on uncomfortable memories... elements of her past she'd rather keep to herself.

She never told Elyan about Lancelot. Alarming him with talk about how much she'd once loved another man, when he already constantly worried that she'd somehow ruin her chances with Arthur, seemed foolish and unnecessary... especially when Lancelot was unlikely to ever return to Camelot anyway.

Gwen was often unnerved by the way people seemed to take a direct interest in her relationship with Arthur. Lancelot had given up on her based on the mere suspicion she had feelings for the prince. Merlin had shown a strong bias toward the man he served; from time to time, she'd asked whether he'd heard from past love, only for him to shake his head and make a gentle, yet pointed comment about Arthur. It had taken Gwaine's unknowing passing comment for her to even find out Lancelot was still alive.

And Elyan... her brother sometimes made her downright _uncomfortable_ with his level of enthusiasm concerning her relationship. "Think of it, Gwen," he'd said to her eagerly one night, his dark eyes shining with excitement. "You could be queen someday! Can you imagine what might be possible for us if that happened?"

"My feelings for Arthur have nothing to do with his position, Elyan."

"Yes, but you can't tell me you don't dream about the things he could give you. Living in the palace... your own servants... wealth and privilege and...?"

"I'd be just as happy with Arthur if he was a pig farmer."

Saying those words aloud had been unsettling, as she'd heard an echo of herself vowing the same thing about Lancelot years before. There'd been a clear picture in her mind back then... Lancelot dressed in simple clothing, humble and dirty as he'd tended the animals in some poor village. She'd had a vivid image of sharing that life with him, one that had left her with a deep feeling of contentment.

But conjuring up a similar vision of Arthur had been impossible; no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't seem to imagine him as anything aside from prince and future king. Eventually she'd pushed the thought aside, reminding herself that there was no point in dwelling on hypotheticals that would never come to pass anyway.

* * *

"Arthur, where are you going?"

"I'm sorry, Guinevere. I can't tell you that."

"When will you return?"

"Soon, I hope."

Arthur stepped closer and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Don't worry," he said, his voice soft and reassuring. "I'll be careful."

Only a few minutes after that hasty and unexpected goodbye, Gwen watched from Morgana's window as Arthur and Merlin rode out of the city gates, alone and unaided. She chewed on her fingernails anxiously; he'd never failed to be open with her about his quests in the past... why this sudden secrecy?

"Gwen? _Gwen!_ "

She flinched at Morgana's harsh tone, then forced her lips into an apologetic smile as she turned to face the other woman.

"I'm sorry, did you need something?"

"I need you to do your job. Is that too much to ask?"

Gwen's eyes darted around the chamber, searching for some unfinished chore she'd forgotten to complete. It was a useless effort... the room was spotless.

"Nevermind," Morgana said brusquely, before her face relaxed into a more gentle expression. "Forgive me, Gwen. I'm just tired, that's all. I didn't mean to snap at you."

"No need to apologize, my lady. Shall I help you undress for bed?"

"That won't be necessary. Go on home. I'll see you in the morning."

Having learned the hard way not to question Morgana's orders, she left the chamber without another word.

* * *

Gwen lingered in the palace for another hour or so, stopping by to visit Gaius as she usually did when Merlin was away from home. The old physician would never admit it, but she knew how lonely it was for him to spend his evenings in an empty chamber without anyone else around to scold or coddle.

She let him feed her a bowl of stew and fuss over her for a little while, avoiding the temptation of inquiring after Arthur and Merlin's destination. Though it was difficult to contain her curiosity, and more than that, her worry, she kept reminding herself that the information wouldn't have been concealed from her without good reason.

The palace was mostly deserted by the time she headed home, with the exception of a few sleepy guards who nodded politely as she passed. She descended the final flight of stairs, only to stop dead in her tracks as she spotted a familiar figure clad in a purple velvet gown slipping silently around the corner at the other end of the corridor.

 _Why is Morgana sneaking down to the dungeons in the dead of night?_ she wondered fearfully.

A strong sense of self-preservation discouraged Gwen from following the other woman, yet her overwhelming curiosity wasn't to be dissuaded. She walked hesitantly in Morgana's footsteps, turning off with a sudden burst of inspiration at a much smaller corridor that led to a little used storage room filled with moth eaten bedding and dusty furniture.

Once she was safely inside, she smiled grimly as her eyes fell upon the grate in the middle of the floor. She stepped closer and leaned forward, listening intently.

"... with the Cup in our possession, Camelot would soon be at our mercy. Where is the Cup now?"

The hushed female voice was vaguely familiar, though Gwen couldn't quite place the speaker.

There was no mistaking Morgana, however, as she responded: "It's in the hands of the Druids. All I know is that their camp lies within Cenred's kingdom."

"Then perhaps Cenred will be of use to us again. He has spies everywhere. If he can have Arthur followed..."

"Then Arthur will lead us all the way to the Cup itself," Morgana said, every word positively dripping with malice.

"Indeed he will," the other speaker agreed. "Now return to your chamber and get some rest, Sister. We have much to accomplish in the days to come, and the people of Camelot will expect their queen to look her best."

Gwen pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp as the color drained from her face.

* * *

Just a few minutes later, she burst into the physician's chamber without warning, causing Gaius to jerk awake with a panicked cry of, "What? Who's there?!"

I'm sorry, Gaius! I'm sorry, it couldn't wait! Arthur... Merlin, they're walking into a trap! There's a Cup... I don't know what it is, but Morgana means to steal it with the help of her accomplice. Some woman who calls her 'Sister', though I couldn't tell who it was. Sh-she's going to try and take the throne!"

Gaius groaned as he rose stiffly from his bed, then shuffled over to the table to light a candle. "I can't begin to guess how they found out about the Cup, but I'm afraid the rest comes as little surprise. They didn't see you, did they?"

"N-no... but Gaius, we have to warn Arthur and Merlin! And you have to tell the king!"

Gaius sank heavily onto the bench, studying Gwen's frantic features with a kind, almost pitying expression as he spoke. "And what do you expect Uther would say if I told him his own d... beloved ward was a traitor with plans to steal the throne? How do you think he'd react to such an accusation, based on nothing more than the word of a servant?"

Gwen sighed. "I see your point. But we have to do _something!_ If we can get word to Arthur, to Merlin, perhaps they can abandon this mission before it's too late..."

"I'm afraid that won't work either, Gwen. We couldn't hope to reach them in time, and the risk would be far too great if we tried. The only thing working in our favor right now is that Morgana doesn't realize we're aware of her plans. We must ensure it remains that way for as long as possible."

"What can we do?"

"Have faith in Merlin and Arthur, and hope for the best."

* * *

Three days later, Gwen found herself staring out Morgana's window at the massive army gathering just beyond the city gates, horrified not only by the impending threat they posed, but also by the idea that Morgana herself could have willingly invited such brutality upon the kingdom.

"Is it true they attack at dawn?" she whispered.

"I'm afraid so."

"And no word from Arthur?"

"Nothing."

Gwen let out a shuddering sigh. "Then all is lost. We'll be massacred, every last one of us."

Morgana stepped closer with an unmistakably calculating expression on her face. "Not everyone has to die."

"What do you mean?"

"Those that defy them, those that choose to fight, they will surely die. But those who do not resist, those that choose to welcome change, they will have a future here. Everyone has a choice, Gwen."

She wanted so much to make a stand right then and there, to rail at her former friend and demand that she put an end to this madness. But to do so would mean surrendering what little power she had left, with only certain death waiting on the other side.

"You know I have always been loyal to you, Morgana. And I always will be."

The other woman's face broke into a smile, achingly reminiscent of the sweet expressions that had played across her features so frequently in the past. She took Gwen's hands in her own, her touch warm and gentle as she spoke.

"Then have no fear. No harm will come to you, I promise you that."

And for the briefest moment, Gwen almost wanted to take her side in truth, if only to cling to the overwhelming kindness that flowed from Morgana as her former friend reached out to embrace her.

Almost... but not quite.


	69. Homecoming

#  **Chapter 69: Homecoming**

* * *

"Another message for you."

"Now?" Lancelot sat up in bed, blinking sleepily at Percival. "It's the middle of the night."

"Sorry. The man said it was urgent."

"No, no need to apologize," he reassured his friend with a groggy smile. "I'm just surprised by the hour, that's all."

Percival nodded. "I'll leave you to it then."

As soon as the door closed, Lancelot hurriedly broke the seal and unfolded the sheet of parchment, frowning in momentary confusion as his eyes fell upon a single sentence.

_Tell me what I was doing in the woods on the day we first met._

"You were about to be mauled by a winged monster?" he said uncertainly.

Nothing happened.

He closed his eyes in concentration as he delved more deeply into his memories. "You were gathering something for supper. Yes, that's it... you were gathering mushrooms."

The parchment grew warm in his hands as the page filled with line after line of a handwriting that was as familiar to him as his own. He smiled to himself, taking a moment to appreciate Merlin's extraordinary gifts before he started to read.

_We're in hiding in a cave about half a mile south of that place – myself, Arthur, Gaius, Gwaine, and Elyan. Morgana has turned traitor; she's raised an army, Lancelot, and not just any army. Because of her treachery, an extremely powerful Cup was stolen, then used to make these soldiers immortal. What are we to do now? Camelot's knights stand little chance against a legion of enemies who can't die._

_With the help of King Cenred and her sister, Morgause, Morgana has succeeded in taking Uther's crown and has claimed sovereignty over the kingdom. Hundreds of innocent people have been slain, and Arthur... well, he's lost all faith._

_Lancelot, I think it's only fair to tell you that if you choose to come to our aid, death is a far more likely outcome than victory. But I can't surrender hope just yet. I won't give up as long as there's even a ghost of a chance we may yet find a way to defeat them._

_I don't know if this letter will reach you in time, if you even receive it at all, but I had to try. All I can do now is hope._

_Hope seems to be the only thing left for us anymore._

Five minutes later, Lancelot pounded on the door to Percival's room, meeting the other man's expression of curiosity with a grimly determined smile. All of his worldly possessions had been shoved hastily into a satchel he wore slung over one shoulder.

"I'm leaving for Camelot," he said quietly, thrusting the letter out for Percival to read. "I'm not asking you to accompany me, I just didn't want to leave without explanation."

Percival shook his head and grinned. "I would've been with you either way, but knowing that bastard Cenred is behind this? Couldn't stop me if you tried. I'll grab my things."

* * *

The three days it took to reach their destination might well have been three years as far as Lancelot was concerned. There were so many unanswered questions to ponder – why had Morgana turned against the people who loved her? Where was the king, and was he even still alive? An immortal army, aided by magic... was it possible that Merlin held the power to diminish their strength somehow?

But all of these questions paled in comparison to the single thought that burned itself into Lancelot's mind, nearly driving him mad with anxiety.

_Where is Gwen?_

Merlin hadn't listed her name among the small group of survivors who were hiding out in the cave. Was this an intentional oversight, the way he normally avoided any mention of her in their correspondence? Surely in this case, he would overlook that habit of careful omission, wouldn't he? He _had_ to know Lancelot would be plagued with worry over her fate.

... unless she was already dead and Merlin hadn't had the heart to break the news to him.

No, that couldn't be it. He would've _felt_ it if she'd been slain, for all the hope in his heart, the belief, the enduring faith, would've died along with her. No, she was alive and well, and if she wasn't with Merlin and Arthur, then he would find her somehow. There was no other option.

Once Lancelot managed to set aside his immediate fears, other thoughts of Gwen dominated his consciousness. What would she think when she saw him again after all this time? Would she still be angry? Could he somehow make her understand why he'd done what he'd done? More importantly, what could he possibly do to make it up to her?

Maybe she wasn't involved with Arthur, but was she in love with someone else by now? Or could there be some small chance they might yet have a future together?

Maybe it was absurd to dwell on that hypothetical future when even the present was so uncertain. But just the idea of seeing her again made it impossible to believe they wouldn't prevail against their enemies, immortal or not. How was it possible to even consider death when there was so much to live for, so many things that remained unsaid and undone?

Percival left him alone with his thoughts throughout the journey, only speaking for practical reasons such as needing to water the horses or suggesting they stop for a bite to eat. Lancelot was grateful for his friend's silent, placid demeanor... it went a long way in soothing his own inner turmoil.

His senses were overtaken with a rush of excitement as they finally crossed over the border into the kingdom of Camelot. How many years had it been since he'd seen the place he still thought of as home? It seemed like another lifetime to him now, and yet everything about the beloved lands that lay before him was intimately familiar, as if he'd only been away for an overnight journey.

But his initial elation came screeching to a halt as the gruesome reality he'd only imagined based on Merlin's letter began to materialize before his eyes. The unmistakable signs of wanton destruction were everywhere – villages burned, crops flattened, while unnatural silence spread across the land in every direction. Lancelot avoided looking at Percival's face, if only because he didn't want to see his own worst fears reflected back at him.

He couldn't bear the thought that they'd come too late.

As they drew closer to the city itself, a thick, portentous cloud of smoke became visible in the distance. Lancelot swallowed hard as he was given his first glimpse of the towering spires that marked the Citadel... heavily damaged and smoke scarred, still smoldering in places. His stomach twisted with nausea, a sensation that wasn't helped by the mutilated bodies of soldiers that began to appear more frequently on either side of the path upon which they rode, clad in painfully familiar red cloaks stained with deeper shades of crimson.

There was not a single fallen enemy among them.

"Turn left here," Lancelot said gruffly, and they departed from the well beaten road onto a winding forest trail. "We'll have to leave the horses when we get a little closer. I won't risk discovery more than is absolutely necessary."

They dismounted and left their mounts in a secluded grassy meadow beside a small, swift running stream. It wasn't what Lancelot would have preferred, but it was the best that could be done under the circumstances.

And there it was... the fallen log behind which he and Merlin had hidden from an unidentified monster so many years before. Lancelot had been wounded at the time, on the brink of unconsciousness, and yet the memory was as sharp and clear as any he'd ever known. How young they'd been – Merlin, barely more than a boy with a sweet, awkward nature, and Lancelot, naive, idealistic, genuinely believing himself to be on the brink of greatness. How much had changed, and yet somehow, the core of who he was, who they _both_ were, had remained intact.

"South," he said quietly. "Keep to the trees."

"Lancelot..."

But he heard it just before Percival whispered his name. His heart thudded violently in his chest, in time with the rhythm of scores of pounding feet. Soldiers, and not allies by any means... black patches of uniform flashed and then disappeared on the other side of the thicket where the two men were secluded, no more than a few dozen paces from the cave they were trying to reach.

"It seems we've arrived just in time," Lancelot breathed anxiously. "The hiding place has been discovered."

"What do we do?"

"We follow."

What happened next was a blur of frantic motion. There was an excited shout and then the soldiers rushed forward, filling Lancelot's heart with dread as they fell upon their prey. In the distance, he spotted Arthur's golden hair glinting in the sunlight, though the small group that was fleeing along with him were impossible to distinguish as they slipped like shadows through the trees. Their flight seemed increasingly hopeless as the soldiers closed in behind them... until Lancelot saw where they were headed.

"Come on!" he shouted at Percival, swerving abruptly to the left and ascending a steep slope. "We have to find a way to cut them off! It's our only chance!"

And then he spotted her – an unmistakable wealth of dark curls flashing briefly before his eyes as she followed the others toward the narrow passageway below. A feeling of overwhelming relief flooded his senses, swiftly followed by panicked desperation as he threw his body against the first boulder he came to, straining with all his might.

There was no need to call out directions to Percival, which was a good thing; Lancelot's vocal capabilities had been reduced to an unintelligible series of heavy pants and forceful grunts. Together they managed to position several of the larger rocks just at the edge of the precipice, and then... one heartbeat... two...

 _"Now!"_ he gritted out, and the men gave a mighty shove.

The boulders toppled down into the ravine with a deafening crash, effectively barring the way between the soldiers and their quarry. He shared a breathless, triumphant grin with Percival, and then with his heart pounding in a way he couldn't completely credit to his recent exertions, he stepped forward to peer over the edge.

And in that first glance, the rest of the world faded to nothing. All he saw was Gwen.

The expression on her upturned face was a heady combination of unmistakable joy and shocked disbelief as he devoured the sight of her. She gasped his name aloud, the sound reaching his ears with a sweetness that brought tears to his eyes, and for the briefest moment, no thought entered his mind other than how desperately he'd missed her and what a fool he'd been to ever leave her side.

But then reality intruded again, recalling the precariousness of their current situation and the urgent need to press on.

"We need to hurry."

With Percival behind him, Lancelot ventured down into the ravine with the intention of helping the others make the steep ascension. It would do no good to follow the main path that sloped gently upward to meet level ground. Their enemy would surely be anticipating such a thing, and might even now be lying in wait for them.

His first impulse was to help Gwen, but the dark skinned man, the one he didn't recognize, was already at her side with an arm wrapped firmly around her waist.

"Missed your chance, my friend," Gwaine goaded quietly as he passed.

 _Gwaine..._ how had he failed to notice his estranged companion until that moment?

And then he knew the answer, which wasn't even entirely based upon his enormous preoccupation with seeing Gwen again. It was because Gwaine looked perfectly at home in this setting, blending seamlessly into the world of Merlin, Arthur, Gwen... all the things that truly _meant_ something to him. It only made sense that they should have all been brought together this way, so much that he didn't think to question it further.

Telling himself this wasn't the time to worry about the stranger who was hovering over Gwen almost possessively, Lancelot joined Merlin as his friend struggled to help Gaius with the short, yet treacherous climb. It was a bit awkward, but with his and Percival's assistance, the elderly man reached higher ground without mishap.

"I think it's safe to stop here," Arthur called a short time later, after they'd put half a league or so between themselves and the scene of the avalanche. "Let's pause and catch our breath before we press on. Do we have any water?"

"Right here," Merlin said as he handed over a flask. "I believe Elyan has some, too."

When they glanced over, the man who'd been helping Gwen before was pressing a water skin into her hand as he leaned close to murmur something in her ear. Lancelot pushed away a sharp twinge of jealousy, focusing his attention on Arthur as the other man spoke again.

"I take it that rock fall wasn't an accident."

"This is Percival," he replied fondly as he clapped his friend on the shoulder. "It was his strength that brought them down."

Percival looked suddenly shy. "Your Highness."

The prince scoffed at the formal address. "Arthur," he insisted with a warm smile that melted away any trace of uncertainty in Percival's expression, replacing it with a huge grin.

"Arthur it is."

"What were you doing here?"

Merlin spoke up before Lancelot could formulate a response. "It was me. I sent for him."

Arthur nodded, turning back to Lancelot and Percival with another appraising look. "Well, we owe you our lives. Thank you."

As the conversation hit a lull, Lancelot's eyes drifted back to Gwen. She'd been watching him already, giving him a gentle smile as he turned his head in her direction. He took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest as he made ready to approach her. But before he could move, she suddenly averted her gaze, focusing her attention on the man he'd identified as Elyan.

Who was he? Was she in love with him? It certainly seemed that way, judging by the way they interacted with one another. Well, if that were the case, he'd just have to swallow his feelings and figure out how to live with the idea. Despite all the years he'd spent trying to convince himself that the love between them had ended, even that she'd be better off with someone else, his heart simply refused to believe it.

Perhaps it never would.

"Time to move on!" Arthur called out, and Lancelot followed faithfully in his footsteps.

And then suddenly none of it mattered – their destination, the uncertainty of their future, what unthinkable perils lay ahead. Even his unease about Gwen's affections could be set aside for the time being. A single voice in his mind pushed through the tangle of confusion, warming him from head to heel with its silent proclamation.

_At long last, I am home._


	70. World in Turmoil

#  **Chapter 70: World in Turmoil**

* * *

Gwen felt Lancelot's eyes burning into her back as the group of survivors navigated the rocky path which led to the castle ruins. Now that her initial shock at his sudden reappearance had faded somewhat, dozens of questions began to assail her mind.

What was _Lancelot_ doing here? How had he managed to find them in the middle of nowhere? Why had he been looking for them in the first place? Had he known they were in danger? Well, obviously he had, but _how?_

And why had he looked at her as if... no, she wouldn't think about that. It didn't matter. It _couldn't_ matter. She was with Arthur, and anyway, all of their lives were in immediate peril. This wasn't the time for dwelling on some trivial emotional reaction to the unexpected sight of a past love.

No, she mustn't forget that Lancelot _was_ her past. She had to keep that in mind, and somehow push down the overwhelming urge to turn around and ask him...

Ask him _what?_ What did she possibly need to know that wasn't clear already? He'd _left_ her years ago. More than that, he'd told Merlin to pass along the message that it was over between them. What was left to be said?

She could tell him how much it had hurt to be cast aside without being given a chance to explain herself, perhaps inform him he'd been wrong when he'd assumed that her heart had belonged to another man. But what would be the point aside from compromising her dignity? What use would there be in saying, 'It wasn't true then, but it is now'?

It _was_ true, wasn't it? Yes, of course. Absolutely. Gwen loved _Arthur_ , not Lancelot. That was his own fault, and they'd both have to live with the consequences of his actions.

... If any of them even survived at all.

Stubbornly, she maintained a stoic expression as she fought to control her inner turmoil. She hardly took note of her surroundings as they made their way inside the fortress, though she did have the presence of mind to light a few sconces on the walls in an effort to chase away the gloomy chill of the ancient castle. All the while, she watched Lancelot out of the corner of her eye, so distracted by his presence she nearly jumped out of her skin when Arthur's voice echoed through the cavernous hall.

"Here! Come and join me."

She almost hesitated before accepting the hand Arthur extended to help her into her seat; a wave of shame washed over her, even as he began to make a speech that reminded her why she loved him so much... why there was no better choice for her... why she'd _never_ change the past, even if she could go back in time and do things differently.

"This table belonged to the ancient kings of Camelot. A round table afforded no one man more importance than any other. They believed in equality in all things. So it seems fitting that we revive this tradition now."

Poor Arthur. He deserved so much more than someone who'd question their feelings for him, even for a second. Was there ever a man more brave, more noble, more filled with goodness?

"Without each of you, we wouldn't be here. My father has languished in prison for too long. Tomorrow I make my bid to rescue him. Are there any around this table who will join me?"

And then Lancelot rose to his feet, sending her emotions into a flurry all over again.

"You taught me the values of being a knight," he said in that soft, engaging voice that had always sent shivers down her spine. "The code by which a man should live his life. To fight with honor for justice, freedom, and all that's good. I believe in the world that you will build."

Why couldn't he have some glaring flaw that would make him seem less worthy next to Arthur, rather than reminding her that if anything, their better qualities made them equal in her eyes?

_He abandoned you, Gwen. That's a pretty serious flaw._

Her brother was speaking now, giving her yet another reason to feel guilty for being so distracted at such a crucial moment. "Even though I was a commoner, a nobody, you were willing to lay down your life for me, Arthur," he said quietly. "It is now my turn to repay you."

She treated Elyan to a proud smile, determined to put aside her troubled emotions and focus on the moment at hand.

* * *

Recalling Uther's rigid dictates regarding the knighting of commoners, Lancelot kept his excitement to a minimum as he dropped to his knees and felt the gentle tap of a sword on each shoulder.

"Arise, Sir Lancelot, Knight of Camelot."

As honored as he was by the gesture, he hoped Arthur realized it wasn't necessary to take such measures in order to inspire his loyalty. No, he'd never needed an official knighthood, only a good leader to follow and a just cause to defend. He understood that now, having learned that titles and trappings were nothing more than decoration. 

A "Sir" didn't define a man's character. He was a knight in his heart or he wasn't a knight at all.

But as Lancelot studied the faces of his companions, moved by the sight of Gwaine as the other man's eyes glittered with tears, he knew this was much bigger than the awarding of temporary knighthoods. If they survived, Uther would likely strip their titles away as soon as he regained his throne, but it didn't matter. The alliance they were forming, the bond between noble and commoner alike, wouldn't be broken so easily.

It felt _right_ to be standing beside these men as equals... no question of lineage to contend with or hurdles to jump through as proof of their worth. The justice in each of them being deemed as fit to serve based on nothing other than the loyalty of their hearts was more beautiful than anything he'd ever experienced in his life.

 _Well_ , he amended as his eyes flickered in Gwen's direction, trying not to notice that she quickly looked away. _Almost anything._

After the impromptu knighting ceremony had concluded, there was only time to eat the small meal Merlin had managed to scrape together before Arthur insisted it was time for all of them to get some rest.

"Gwen?" Lancelot murmured as she passed, wanting to take advantage of a rare moment when no one else was paying attention. "May I speak with you?"

Her expression when she turned to him was one of alarm, which sent his heart sinking to his toes. If nothing else, didn't she know by now that she had nothing to fear from _him_ of all people?

But then she seemed to recover somewhat, giving him a weak smile in response. "I'm tired, Lancelot. Can it wait until morning?"

"Of course." In the end, it didn't matter how desperately he wanted to talk to her. He was far too chivalrous to press the point. _Tomorrow..._ yes, hopefully he'd have a chance to spend a few minutes with her before the battle. He wasn't afraid of losing his life, but dying without at least having a chance to apologize for his terrible mistake was unthinkable.

He turned away when she did, swallowing another stab of jealousy as she settled herself between Gaius and Elyan. Between the quiet smiles and meaningful looks, not to mention her obvious pride in the man when they'd all been knighted, it was hard to believe she didn't have serious feelings for him.

Who _was_ this Elyan? How did he and Gwen...? Lancelot shook his head and pushed the disturbing questions away. No, this wasn't the time to think about that... not with so many other things to worry about.

"Over here, Lancelot," Merlin called out.

Well, this was a pleasant alternative, he decided as he settled himself beside his friend. They'd barely had a chance to talk to one another since his return; he was eager to find out if Merlin had any further insight into what they were facing on the morrow.

The soft sounds of chatter had faded away in the darkness, replaced by slow, even breathing from all sides, when the other man finally spoke.

"You're a knight. At last."

Lancelot smiled somewhat wistfully. "But for how long?"

"Who knows?"

"What are you planning?" he said as softly as he could manage, no longer able to contain his curiosity. "And don't even think about lying; I know you too well."

"It's too difficult to explain."

"You can tell me."

* * *

Unable to fall asleep, Gwen listened intently to the whispered conversation that was happening only a few feet away. Part of her felt bad for eavesdropping, but she couldn't help it… particularly when she wondered why Lancelot would be asking Merlin about matters of strategy rather than Arthur himself, or even someone like Sir Leon.

"Morgana has the Cup of Life. If I can find it and empty it of the blood within, the army will be destroyed and Morgana will be powerless."

"Aren't you forgetting something? It's guarded by an immortal army," Lancelot said, and she inwardly praised him for his common sense before she reminded herself not to do so.

"Aren't you forgetting something? I have magic."

She froze in shock, drawing on every ounce of self-control she possessed in order to prevent herself from gasping aloud. Merlin... _what?_

"It doesn't make you immortal," Lancelot said seriously, destroying her fleeting hope that it had only been a jest.

"No."

"You know, Merlin, you're the one Arthur should knight. You're the bravest of us all and he doesn't even know it."

_What?! Merlin has magic?!_

And Lancelot knew about it, which couldn't be a recent development since no one in Camelot had spoken to him in years. Even more confusing was that he seemed completely comfortable with the idea, going so far as to praise Merlin and suggest he deserved a knighthood? What on _earth_ was going on?

"He can't," Merlin replied, sounding oddly vulnerable. "Not yet. That's why I need to find a way to get to the Cup without Arthur knowing."

"Leave that to me."

Even when the men fell silent, there was no hope that sleep would claim her after what she'd overheard. No, not tonight... and not ever again. At least, that was the way she felt – every nerve ending in her body suddenly vibrating with restless energy. It was bad enough that she had to deal with the possibility of losing everyone she cared for in a brave yet futile battle, not to mention that she was struggling to suppress an inappropriate emotional reaction to a past love in the midst of that. But _Merlin...?_

She got to her feet and crept away from the others, pausing only long enough to light a candle before padding up the wide staircase. Exploring an ancient castle in the dead of night might not have been the wisest idea, but she desperately needed a walk to clear her head, and it wasn't like there was anywhere else to go.

The upper level of the fortress was comprised of sleeping quarters; that much was clear by the rotting bedframes she glimpsed in the open rooms she passed, unprotected by doors that had rusted off their hinges. At the end of the corridor was the largest chamber, set some distance away from the others. There was nothing remarkable about that; it had probably been where the king and queen had slept. 

But then she saw something inside that captured her interest.

More eager than cautious, she headed for the sliver of moonlight that illuminated the open doorway, gasping in delight as she emerged into what had obviously been a private garden. It was largely overgrown, of course, but no less beautiful despite the lack of human care. Thick growths of wild roses lay entangled with lush ropes of ivy, having long since covered any paths which would've allowed for easy passage.

Gwen picked her way though the tangle of vegetation, pleased to find a small patch of grass hidden within the fragrant labyrinth. She settled herself on the ground, closing her eyes and losing herself in the heady scent of roses for a few soothing minutes before focusing her thoughts on more pressing matters.

_Merlin has magic._

Up here where the world was so peaceful, the suggestion of it seemed even more absurd. She wanted to laugh aloud at the words, to chalk the whole thing up to faulty hearing… but it was hard to do that when Merlin's voice had been crystal clear and filled with sincerity.

_"I have magic."_

No, it couldn't be true. She'd already been forced to watch as one person she'd loved had been corrupted by sorcery, and if what Morgana was doing wasn't proof that magic could blacken even the purest of hearts, she didn't know what was.

Even more confusing was the fact that _Lancelot_ knew about it... not to mention was accepting of such a horrible, potentially tragic reality. Despite the fact that he'd broken her heart, she'd never known him to be anything other than honest and noble, unselfish and endlessly determined to change the world for the better. How could someone so good knowingly support something so... _evil?_

But then again, was Merlin intent on doing any harm? In the past, she would've laughed at the thought, even if he _had_ been exposed as a sorcerer. But now... it was hard not to think of magic in the worst possible light when another formerly devoted friend was hellbent on using it to destroy everyone she'd ever loved.

Merlin might have the best of intentions for the time being. But how long would it take for magic to poison his soul, too? If by some miracle they all survived the coming battle, how much time would they have before they found themselves dealing with another monster? And what if…?

"Gwen?"

She let out a sharp gasp as she whirled around to face the speaker.


	71. Wrong Impressions

#  **Chapter 71: Wrong Impressions**

* * *

"Lancelot? W-what are you doing up here?"

His face was in shadow as he hovered in the doorway. "Forgive me for startling you. I was about to ask you the same thing."

"I couldn't sleep," Gwen responded, trying to sound casual as she rose to her feet and brushed herself off. "I thought a walk might help."

"I understand," he said softly. "We all have a lot on our minds with the coming battle. But it isn't a good idea to wander around such an ancient fortress by yourself. It could be dangerous."

Her initial surprise was quickly replaced by a flash of annoyance. "So you came to check up on me? I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself, Lancelot. I'm not a child."

"I didn't mean... I just wanted to make sure you were safe."

"I hardly see where that's your responsibility. In case you hadn't noticed, I've gotten by just fine for quite a long time without having you around to protect me." She cringed at the resentment in her voice, unnerved to realize how much anger she was still carrying around. Swallowing hard, she attempted a friendlier tone. "I'm sorry. I'm just worried about tomorrow, that's all. I didn't mean to snap at you."

Lancelot hesitated, then took a step closer. "I should've been."

She frowned in confusion, distracted by the relatively short distance that now separated them. "Should've been what?"

"Here to protect you. That's what I wanted to tell you earlier. When we last saw each other, what I did..."

And then she started to panic as Lancelot continued moving forward. He didn't stop until he was close enough to touch, eyes soft and impossibly dark in the moonlight as he gazed down at her. Her heart beat frantically as she struggled to look at anything other than his face, anger, confusion, as well as another emotion she refused to acknowledge as attraction all combining to leave her at a loss for words.

"What I did..." he repeated a little more firmly. "I thought you and Arthur..."

No... oh no, she wasn't ready to have _this_ conversation. Not with a thousand different emotions churning inside her, so mixed up there was no way of knowing _what_ she might say in response to whatever he intended to tell her. She knew what she _should_ say – it would be best to inform him in a dignified manner that explanations regarding the past were inappropriate considering the current circumstances.

... of course, thinking it and saying it aloud were two very different things.

Did he even know she was with Arthur? Probably not; they were so accustomed to keeping their relationship secret that even the most subtle affectionate gestures were rare whenever they were in the company of others. Merlin and Gaius knew, of course, as well as her brother and a couple of the knights. No one openly discussed it, however, fully aware of the risk involved in doing so.

But there were no eavesdroppers around just now, and it was far more risky _not_ to say anything about Arthur as she stood alone with Lancelot in the darkness, breathing in the familiar and all too intoxicating scents of horses, woodsmoke, and clean forest air. She closed her eyes in an effort to regain some control over her senses; too late, she realized her mistake.

A vivid image assaulted her mind, recalling the last time her eyes had drifted shut while in Lancelot's presence. She saw herself lying half naked on the ground, her soft moans of pleasure echoing in her ears as she shivered in response to the memory of his hands sliding across her bare skin.

"Are you cold?"

Gwen's eyes flew open as the image abruptly faded. "W-What?"

"You're trembling. Here, let me..."

He'd obviously removed his mail at some point – his upper body was clad only in a simple linen shirt and light jacket. She watched him intently, fascination and desire mingling with horror as he began to remove the latter.

"No!" she cried sharply, before recovering somewhat. "Just... don't. I'm fine. Really, I should be getting back downstairs. It's late."

She turned to leave, silently congratulating herself for having the willpower to do so, even as he reached out and caught her arm in a gentle grip.

"Gwen, wait. Before you go..."

But he never had a chance to finish the thought as a different voice intruded upon their conversation, soft and deadly as the distinct scrape of a sword being pulled from its scabbard pierced the heavy silence.

"What is going on here?"

Gwen let out a gasp as she turned to face the newcomer. "Elyan?!"

But he wasn't looking at her; his black eyes were fixed on Lancelot, narrowing speculatively as they dropped to the hand that was still clutching her elbow.

"Care to explain exactly what you're doing to my sister?"

* * *

Relief definitely wasn't the most appropriate emotion to be feeling when a man holding a sword was staring at him with murder in his eyes, but Lancelot couldn't help himself. Gwen's _brother?_ It was all he could do not to laugh aloud, recalling his earlier fluctuations between painful jealousy and unhappy resignation when he'd picked up on the closeness between the pair.

He hadn't even realized she _had_ a brother, but that was all right... everything was right with the world as he released her arm and held his hands out to Elyan in a gesture of surrender.

"We were only talking. Believe me, I would never do anything to harm your sister."

 _His sister.._. it was all Lancelot to do to stop himself from grinning.

Elyan stepped closer, eying him suspiciously for a long moment before shifting his attention to Gwen. "Is this true?"

"Of course it is," she said nonchalantly, rolling her eyes in his direction. "Lancelot and I... he's an old friend of mine. We were just catching up. Now put your sword away, Elyan. I'm in no danger."

The dark skinned man dropped his sword back into its scabbard, though tension was still evident in every line of his body as he folded his arms across his chest and leaned against an ivy covered pillar.

"Sneaking away to meet in a deserted castle in the middle of the night... forgive me, but that doesn't exactly seem as innocent as you're making it out to be."

Gwen sighed in exasperation. "I didn't sneak away to meet anyone, Elyan. I couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk. That's all. Lancelot saw me leave, apparently, and only followed to make sure I was all right. We just stopped to talk for a few minutes before returning to the others."

Lancelot nodded in agreement, trying to push his sudden annoyance away with the reminder that it was natural for a brother to be overprotective. While this seemed a rather excessive example of that, Elyan clearly had Gwen's best interests at heart. Perhaps in time, he'd be able to see that Lancelot did, too.

That didn't seem likely to happen anytime soon, however, as the other man shot him a baleful glare.

"I'll take your word for it," he finally told Gwen grudgingly. "But even if that's all it was, you should know better. You wouldn't want to give anyone the wrong impression, would you? Traipsing about with strange men at all hours of the night is not how a qu..."

" _Enough_ , Elyan," Gwen interrupted harshly, her voice dripping with some unspoken warning Lancelot didn't understand. "While I appreciate your concern, my private life really isn't any of your business. As much as everyone around me seems to believe otherwise, I _am_ capable of taking care of myself."

"This isn't just about you anymore!" Elyan hissed under his breath.

Gwen suddenly turned to Lancelot with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I need to speak with my brother alone. Would you excuse us?"

He nodded politely, hoping the siblings would find it easier to make peace with one another once he'd gone. "Of course. Goodnight, Gwen. Elyan."

Gwen murmured her farewells, but the other man only scowled in response as Lancelot turned to leave the garden.

* * *

Merlin was snoring softly as he settled himself on the floor beside his friend. He closed his eyes with the same reminder he'd given himself earlier – tomorrow might bring about the most difficult battle of his life, and it was crucial to be as alert and well rested as possible when it came time to face the enemy. But it was no use; there was too much on his mind to hope he might be able to sleep before the night was over.

So Gwen had a brother. It was strange – he felt as if he'd been in love with her forever, hardly able to recall a time when she hadn't been foremost in his most deeply felt wishes and desires. And yet he knew so little about her, having never had any real exposure to her day-to-day life.

She'd told him about her father when he'd come to Camelot for the first time, of course. There had been a bit of conversation about her childhood – growing up without a mother and eventually being hired to serve the Lady Morgana as her maidservant. But that was all. Lancelot had never even met her family beyond the brother who apparently hated him at the moment, nor had he ever been around long enough to learn all the little things that must be important in her world.

In many ways, she remained a mystery to him. 

Would he finally have a chance to figure her out? He had no intention of leaving Camelot again unless he was forced to do so, and now that his earlier suspicions had proven false, Gwen hadn't developed feelings for anyone else as far as he could tell. If it were up to him, he'd do exactly what he _should_ have done years ago... settle down and make a life for himself in the one place he knew he belonged, devoting all his energy to building a future with the only woman he'd ever truly wanted.

Unfortunately, it wasn't that simple. Gwen was still furious with him – he'd heard it in her voice when she'd snapped at him in the garden. She had every reason to withhold her forgiveness, and no matter how many times he'd gone over it in his mind, he never managed to find the right words to apologize for abandoning her in the past, nor to properly explain why he'd done so.

He might have managed _something_ if they hadn't been interrupted, but perhaps it was best that the conversation had been postponed. Maybe explaining himself would become easier once he was used to being around her again; for now, it was probably better not to worry about it too much. Under the circumstances, it was enough to know that she didn't seem to hate him.

The rest could be resolved with time... if he managed to survive on the morrow.

With a great deal of effort, Lancelot shifted his thoughts from Gwen to the coming battle and Merlin's plan to defeat the immortal army. Oddly enough, these musings were far more relaxing; he soon drifted off into a deep, restful sleep.

* * *

Gwen spent most of the morning struggling to maintain the steadfast exterior she always adopted in times of crisis, finding it even more difficult than usual to smile and act cheerful despite her inner turmoil.

It was surprising that she was able to think of anything aside from the impending battle; nonetheless, she found herself dwelling on her argument with Elyan as the others made their preparations. It had grown worse once Lancelot had departed, no longer providing either of them with a reason to refrain from sharing their real thoughts.

"He's just given me a knighthood. A _knighthood_ , Gwen! Do you think that has ever happened to anyone in our family before? This is our chance... our chance to _be_ something! Don't be foolish enough to throw it away!"

She'd gritted her teeth so hard her jaw had hurt, before managing to respond in a reasonably calm manner. "Elyan, Arthur isn't like that. He's not going to take away your knighthood over anything that has to do with me. Besides, I haven't _done_ anything! I don't understand why you're so worked up about this."

"I saw the way he looked at you."

Pushing away the tiny thrill that shot through her in response to the words, she'd countered with an exaggerated shrug. "So? Yes, Lancelot and I were close once, a long time ago. I'm sure he still holds some affection in his heart for me, as I do for him. But that's in the past, Elyan. I'm with Arthur now, and I have no intention of doing anything that might hurt him. Isn't that enough?"

Elyan had shaken his head in exasperation. "You're not getting it, Gwen. Even if that's true, what do you think it looks like to discover you alone with him in the middle of the night? All it takes is _one_ time... if the wrong person catches you, it won't matter if you're innocent. People will talk, and everyone will assume the worst."

"So? If I know I'm not doing anything wrong, what does it matter what anyone else says? People always gossip – anyone with a brain knows that most of it isn't true."

"This isn't the world of commoners we're talking about. Nobles! Royalty! You've worked for them your entire life – haven't you learned how they do things by now? If Arthur plans to marry you... _when_ he does, he's going to have a difficult enough time getting others to accept a union with a servant. If that servant has stains on her character… you might not care what the rumormongers say, but what will it do to Arthur to have the woman he intends to make his queen labeled as a common whore? He'll be a laughingstock."

Gwen had winced, unable to decide whether she was more hurt or infuriated by the words. Settling on both, she'd replied, "A brief conversation with an old friend, and now I'm a _whore?_ I had no idea you thought so little of me."

"No!" Elyan had stared back at her, aghast. "I'm just telling you not to give people the wrong impression. I know you'd never do anything to bring shame upon our family; I'm only asking you not to give anyone else reason to _believe_ you would. Is that really so difficult to understand?"

Bringing herself back to the present, Gwen quietly watched as the men donned their armor and made their final preparations for battle. 

Suddenly, she realized why she was focusing on seemingly trivial concerns during such a crucial moment – worrying over her argument with Elyan, her conflicting feelings for Lancelot, and the various pressures involved in a future with Arthur left her feeling that there was a future to worry about. If she put aside her other concerns and focused on how dangerous this battle really was, she was fearful she might lose the little composure she had left.

Arthur approached just then; her stomach tied itself in knots as she realized he was preparing to say his goodbyes.

"Stay here with Gaius. I want you to gather firewood and make bandages. There'll be casualties."

She silently agreed – it was no more than she expected.

As she made to walk away, however, mindful of any observers, he murmured her name as he reached out and caught her arm. He had that look in his eyes – tender, open, vulnerable – emotions he was always careful not to show with the exception of rare moments when they had the luxury of complete privacy.

"They'll see," she whispered. And yet even as she did, she saw the change in his expression, feeling a little dazed as she recognized it for what it was. The fear was gone, the necessary caution that had hovered around the edges of their entire relationship. 

For good or ill, Arthur was finished hiding.

"I don't care," he said boldly, confirming her assessment. "I want you to know... if I never see you again..."

And then all the confusion melted away, replaced by that comforting, familiar tenderness that had carried her through the previous few years when everything else had been in turmoil. This was Arthur... sweet Arthur, who loved and needed her above all others. And that was enough to make her forget everyone else in the room as she spoke to him with all the sincerity in her heart.

"You will see me. I watched you last night. You gave us hope, something to believe in. I saw the king you will become. I'm so proud of you, Arthur."

He leaned down to kiss her, deeper and more lingering than usual, and her heart filled with warmth and gratitude for the stability he'd given her. She never had to question what he was thinking or feeling, or whether he'd leave her out of some strange impulse she couldn't begin to understand. He might be a simple soul, but he was solid and dependable... even when the entire world seemed to have fallen to pieces, she found strength in the fact that he needed her to be strong. And that was enough.

When they finally pulled apart, she gave him a reassuring smile, instilling him with her hope and quiet faith. Lost to the moment, she never noticed the man who slipped silently from the room, his stoic expression not quite managing to disguise the devastation in his eyes.


	72. To Fight with Honor

#  **Chapter 72: To Fight with Honor**

* * *

Lancelot leaned heavily against the fortress wall, his eyes squeezing shut as he drew in several deep breaths. _Get yourself together,_ he told himself harshly. _The others are depending on you to deliver the best fight of your life today. This isn't the time to think about..._

And then the jarring image flashed behind his eyes again, the lingering kiss that had destroyed what felt like a lifetime of carefully cultivated dreams. His throat was painfully tight, stomach churning with nausea, eyes watering with something he didn't want to acknowledge as unshed tears. And no matter how many gulps of air he sucked into his lungs, he couldn't seem to steady himself.

He'd been grasping at straws, eager to hope for the best after Gwaine's journey to Camelot. Gwen had still been a servant, clearly not married to Arthur, meaning there still might've been a chance of rekindling their love someday. And then somehow, he'd turned a vague possibility into reality, all without realizing he'd done so. A powerful delusion… enough to blind him to the quiet smiles and lingering looks that had passed between the couple the day before. 

Good lord, it was so obvious now... he felt like a fool for not recognizing the truth right when he'd arrived.

Instead, he'd been fixated on Elyan as a potential rival for Gwen's affections. Why? 

The closeness between brother and sister had been easy enough to base quite a few assumptions on, of course, but the _reasoning_ behind his suspicions had gone deeper than mere jealousy. If Gwen had been involved with Elyan, that would've _definitely_ meant that Arthur wasn't in the picture anymore, if anything had happened between them at all. 

There had still been grounds to hope when considering a different man – Elyan could have proven unworthy of Gwen in one way or another, or the relationship might not have been one that was meant to last. A stranger came with numerous potential flaws and uncertainties, leaving him on reasonably solid ground when it came to possibly staking a claim on her future.

But Arthur? No... he wasn't a man Lancelot could hope to compete with, even if he could set aside his conscience enough to do so. He'd never be able to convince himself of any reasonable cause to interfere – that the other man might have the wrong intentions, perhaps, or wouldn't treat Gwen as well as she deserved. No, if she was with Arthur, she'd be treated like the queen she was sure to become someday.

Beyond that, Arthur was his friend. How could he put himself between two people he truly cared about who had a real chance at happiness together?

Happiness... that was the thing that hurt more deeply than all the rest, even though Lancelot hated himself for the fact that it did. Gwen had looked genuinely _happy_ when she'd pulled away from Arthur's kiss, a quiet sort of confidence about her features he'd never seen there before. And as painful as it was to admit it to himself, he knew that look had to be the expression of a woman who was truly in love... one who knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was equally loved in return.

Why should her happiness cause him grief? He ought to be _glad_ for it... it was exactly what he'd dreamed would happen when he'd chosen to leave. Despite the fact that he'd come to question that decision in the years since, the intention that had prompted it to begin with couldn't be wrong, could it? Why should it hurt to see her enjoying the relationship he'd genuinely _wanted_ for her?

But he knew the answer. Considering Gwen and Arthur's relationship as some vague, distant possibility was quite different than having to witness it firsthand. And try as he might, he couldn't quite manage to silence his helpless anger or the sharp sting of jealousy he felt as he remembered that kiss, nor the overwhelming loneliness which overshadowed everything else. He'd be damned if he'd ever admit that truth aloud, but there was no hiding from it either.

It was a useless effort to try and pretend otherwise; he was desperately in love with Gwen, and that wasn't likely to change anytime soon. He'd just have to learn to live with his disappointed hopes and find a way to carry on.

"Lancelot?" He looked up to find Gwaine staring down at him with a concerned frown furrowing his brow. "You all right?"

He sighed as he straightened his shoulders. "Yes, I'm fine," he lied, relieved to find that his voice was reasonably steady as he spoke. "Just a bit tired, that's all."

Gwaine nodded. "We all are. But if it makes you feel any better, there's a good chance we'll be able to sleep for as long as we want by the time this battle is over. Maybe even permanently. Not funny? Yeah, sorry."

"Before we go, I should apologize for..."

"Don't start with all that again," the other man cut him off, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle. "What's said is said. What's done is done. We both learned from it, eh? Neither of us would even be here if we hadn't."

Lancelot raised an eyebrow. "Yes, why _are_ you here, now that you mention it? I have to say, it was a bit surprising to find you of all people championing Arthur's cause... _Sir_ Gwaine."

Gwaine looked distinctly embarrassed, an expression that immediately transformed into one of relief as the others emerged and came to stand beside them. For a moment, the small group of men simply gazed at one another, their eyes speaking of a multitude of emotions that none of them dared utter aloud as they prepared to face the seemingly undefeatable enemy.

"Ready?" Arthur asked quietly.

"With you, sire," Sir Leon responded, as the others nodded their agreement.

Lancelot had managed to push his inner turmoil aside by the time they'd reached the secret entrance that would allow them access to the palace. Every scrap of jealousy, pain, and regret was pushed to some forgotten corner of his mind as his senses grew sharper, more focused, body instinctively preparing itself for the battle to come.

* * *

Neither Gwen or Gaius spoke to one another as the hours dragged by. She expected the old physician to offer words of caution, or at least inquire as to where she was going as she abruptly rose to her feet and headed toward the stairs. He said nothing, however, only stared off into the distance as if he were beyond any awareness of her presence.

There was no aimless wandering today, no poking her head in numerous bedchambers which held nothing of interest. She headed straight for the overgrown garden, breathing in a deep sigh of relief as she emerged from the dank ruins into warm afternoon sunlight.

Carefully picking her way around the overflowing vegetation, she managed to make it to the outer wall, pushing aside several thick ropes of ivy until she found what she was looking for. The weathered stone enclosure was much too high to see over for the most part, but there were narrow slits every few yards or so, obviously designed as a vantage point for archers to target invading enemies.

Such an obvious reminder of violence seemed incongruous among the otherwise peaceful setting of fragrant blossoms and draping vines, though no more out of place than the black soot stains scarring the beautiful towers of the Citadel as she looked out over Camelot in the distance.

There was no way of knowing what was happening inside the city, no outward indication of the battle that must be raging behind those familiar walls. It was maddening; she couldn't help feeling that it would be preferable to be right in the thick of the fight, the threat of imminent death seeming more tolerable than the unbearable silence of her safe haven. 

How many had already fallen? How many more would be lost before the battle was over? More than anything else, she hated feeling so helpless. Just about everyone she loved was in mortal danger at this very moment, and there was nothing she could do to assist them.

Sighing heavily, Gwen headed back downstairs, feeling guilty that she'd left Gaius alone for so long. But the lower floor was deserted; she stared in disbelief at the empty chair as her own harsh breathing echoed throughout the empty hall.

"Gaius?" she called frantically, knowing perfectly well she'd receive no response. 

And then there was no more reason to remain behind. She raced to the heavy double doors and shoved them apart with a strength that surprised her, setting her feet upon the path which would lead her back to Camelot.

* * *

Lancelot fought valiantly for what seemed like hours, his consciousness filled with thoughts of the lives he was striving to defend. Flush with the euphoria of his first true battle, he pushed himself to the brink of his capabilities and beyond, meanwhile clinging to the fragile hope that the seemingly endless struggle would end in triumph if they could only make it to the Cup and spill the blood contained within.

There was a deep sense of purpose behind every blow, each brutal swing he directed at his impervious enemy carrying special significance. His sword flashed through the air like a streak of lightning, recalling the everlasting faith shining in Merlin's eyes, sweet visions of Gwen's gentle smile, Arthur's matchless courage as he battled elsewhere in the palace. Gwaine's steadfast loyalty crossed his mind on several occasions, Percival's quiet strength in the face of tragedy, followed by far more distant thoughts of the helpless citizens that were depending on them to prevail in this crucial battle.

But he eventually grew too weary to sustain the constant inner dialogue that had kept him going long past the limits of his endurance. He fought on instinct alone after that, mind blank with sheer exhaustion. Every muscle in his body began to scream in protest at the constant strain as rivulets of sweat poured into his eyes, blinding him to the point that the men he fought were nothing more than a series of dark shapes that loomed before him then fell away, only to rise again and come at him even harder than before.

He had every intention of continuing the fight as long as it was necessary to do so, and yet he was so tired... part of him just longed to escape the weariness and the pain and the awful feeling of futility that came from facing men who couldn't die... men who didn't seem to lose even the smallest measure of stamina throughout the interminable afternoon. 

Was it even afternoon still, or had night fallen beyond the castle walls? He didn't know, nor could he bring himself to care; nothing in the world mattered anymore except the pressing need to keep fighting somehow.

It was a simple yet catastrophic error in judgment, one that would've never happened if Lancelot's normally razor-sharp senses hadn't been dulled by sheer exhaustion. Intent on the man he was facing, he never noticed the one approaching from behind until his shoulder exploded in a blaze of agony.

With a ragged cry, he swung his arm in a wide arc, knocking the soldier to the ground with an unusually savage blow. His senses were crystal clear now, every detail of the battle raging around him painted in sharp relief, but it was too late; all the renewed determination in the world counted for nothing as blood drenched his shirt beneath the heavy mail he wore, the strength abruptly draining from his body as he fell heavily to his knees.

He managed to crawl away from the fight, bracing himself against a pillar and struggling to remain conscious as Merlin continued the struggle to achieve their common goal. It was almost over now; the final enemy exploded in a shower of sparks, demolished upon the blade of the magical sword that his friend wielded far more skillfully than he probably realized. Lancelot absently reminded himself to compliment Merlin on that later, if he didn't bleed to death before he had the chance to do so.

 _Bravest of us all_ , he thought vaguely as he gritted his teeth against the pain. _I was certainly right about that._

Yes, Merlin was racing for the cup now... almost over... nearly there...

But then the other man was flung backward, slamming into the ground with a heavy impact that made Lancelot wince in sympathy. His eyes shifted to the doorway, struggling to focus on the golden haired woman who hovered there with an expression of smug satisfaction dominating her harshly beautiful features. Was this Morgause then?

Lancelot attempted to rise, to come to Merlin's defense somehow, but it was a useless effort. Sighing in helpless frustration as he slumped back against the pillar, all he could do was watch fearfully as the scene unfolded.

"I have a feeling I won't be seeing you again," Morgause told Merlin sweetly.

"No," another new speaker announced; Lancelot turned his head in the other direction, surprised to find Gaius standing there with a fierce expression on his wrinkled face. "You won't!"

Everything after that was a blur, the chamber crackling with palpable energy as the three sorcerers battled it out with one another. There was a frenzy of motion he couldn't quite follow, whirling wind and frantic shouts... but when the dust cleared, Morgause was lying motionless on the floor, while Gaius shouted something about the Cup.

Lancelot's vision grew blurry as the terrible pain in his shoulder receded into a sort of numb throbbing, only managing to remain conscious by sheer force of will. He saw the Cup as it was flung from its pedestal, a vague feeling of relief coming over him as his eyelids began to droop.

But he couldn't fall asleep just yet, no matter how desperately he longed to do so. Someone else had arrived, unleashing a cry of pure anguish; a blur of dark hair and crimson fabric shot across his field of vision, hurling itself at the woman on the ground.

Morgana.

It seemed as if she'd never stop screaming as the windows came apart in a violent explosion of glass, the rafters above their heads shuddering on their solid stone foundations. Huge chunks of rock rained down from the ceiling as she vented her grief and fury, but there was no time to dwell on the intensely frightening concept of that much power… not if they hoped to escape with their lives.

Summoning the last of his strength, Lancelot leaned heavily against Merlin as his friend helped him to his feet, somehow managing to make it out of the chamber and away from immediate danger.

He'd barely reached the outer corridor when his legs dissolved beneath him, almost as if formed from the insubstantial dust that clouded the air around them both. Despite the other man's valiant attempt to break his fall, he slumped heavily to the ground, muttering an indistinguishable apology as the world went black.


	73. Truth and Denial

#  **Chapter 73: Truth and Denial**

* * *

Despite her anxiety over the fates of her loved ones, Gwen had no intention of just barging into a war ravaged Camelot like some fool with a death wish. She proceeded with caution, painstakingly navigating her way through the back alleys and hidden passages that were scattered throughout the heavily damaged city.

The palace was deathly silent, thick clouds of dust forcing her to shield her nose and mouth to stop herself from coughing as she surveyed the devastation. A scattering of bodies clad in familiar red cloaks was only to be expected, unfortunately, but what of the broken glass from the shattered windows, the large chunks of ceiling scattered across the ground?

Frowning in confusion, she picked her way around the wreckage, cringing each time she encountered another fallen knight. None of them were from Arthur's small group of refugees, who'd all been clad in simple mail or the clothing of commoners, but these were still faces of men who'd passed her in the corridors, often with polite nods or friendly smiles. Her heart grieved for them, even as she felt ashamed of the palpable sense of relief that accompanied her sorrow.

The battle had obviously ended, although the final outcome was far less certain. Gwen didn't see a single living soul as she tiptoed along the deserted corridors... not until she peeked through the open doors of the Council Chamber a few minutes later, feeling faint with relief as her eyes fell upon Arthur, Sir Leon, Elyan, and Gwaine, looking exhausted and filthy, yet very much alive.

The newly appointed Sir Percival was helping her brother patch up what appeared to be a minor wound in his upper arm, and... wait, where was Lancelot? Where were Merlin and Gaius? Her throat seized up in panic, even as Arthur hurried over with a wide smile on his face.

"We did it, Gwen!" he said cheerfully as he pulled her into his arms. "Morgana has been defeated!"

"Where are the others?" she managed to choke out.

"Merlin and Gaius are fine. My father... he's been taken up to his chambers to rest. He's been through quite an ordeal."

 _Damn your father!_ she thought viciously, immediately chastising herself for the uncharitable thought as she noticed the quiet sadness in Arthur's eyes.

"And...?" _Don't make me say it, Arthur. Please._

"Lancelot took a wound in the shoulder. Merlin and Gaius are with him now, along with a few of the others who were injured. He was unconscious when I last saw him, but I'm sure he's going to be fine. He's very strong."

Gwen's stomach did an odd sort of somersault, then seemed to plummet right down to her toes. "I... I should go help them."

"There are only a handful, and most of their injuries aren't serious. I'm sure Gaius has the situation well under control. No need for you to..."

"Sire?"

"Sir Leon!" he responded brightly, turning around to acknowledge the speaker who'd interrupted their conversation. Seizing the opportunity, Gwen slipped out of the chamber, her heart pounding furiously as she ran all the way to the physician's quarters.

* * *

"Gaius?" she called fearfully as she pushed open the door.

"He's with the king."

She barely glanced at Merlin as he spoke, her eyes immediately drawn to the familiar figure lying on the narrow bed, his face almost as pale as the sheets upon which he rested. His chest was bare, a wide swath of bandages wrapped tightly around his right shoulder. Beside him on the rickety stool lay a mass of bloodied rags and empty vials.

"Lancelot..."

"He'll be all right, Gwen," Merlin said as she approached the bed. "He's lost a lot of blood, but the blade didn't touch anything vital."

She barely registered the words as she moved closer, swallowing past the lump in her throat as she reached out to touch Lancelot's face. His colorless flesh felt cool and clammy, nothing like the warm golden skin she remembered so well. Deeply unconscious, his breathing was shallow and labored as he muttered fretfully in his sleep.

"Gwen? He's okay. Really."

"How did it happen?"

Merlin came to stand beside her, fidgeting awkwardly as he spoke. "Um, I'm not sure."

"I thought you were with him. Weren't the two of you charged to take out the warning bell?"

"Well, yes, but... yes, I saw him go down right at the end. It doesn't matter now. He survived, and so did the rest of us. There's no need to worry anymore. Didn't Arthur tell you? We've won."

Gwen sighed distractedly. "Yes, I know. Shouldn't he have another blanket? His skin is so cold."

"You should be with him, Gwen."

"What?" She was confused for a moment, until she realized Merlin was speaking of Arthur. "Oh, I've already seen him. He's fine, just tired."

"He's very upset about his father, you know."

"Merlin?" a male voice called softly from the doorway. "Arthur would like to know if you're able to take a break from tending the wounded. We're all pretty hungry..."

"Right," Merlin sighed as he went to join Sir Leon. "You coming, Gwen?"

"In a minute," she responded, her eyes still fixed on Lancelot.

There was a long silence. "Gwen, you should really..."

"I said I'd be along shortly."

* * *

Gwen retrieved a spare blanket and spread it over Lancelot's sleeping body, frowning to herself as she moved the pile of clutter off the stool and sat down beside him. Why had Merlin behaved so oddly, like he'd been trying to keep her away from the injured man? Despite the issues they'd had in the past, Lancelot was someone she cared for very much. Surely he had to realize that.

Lancelot moaned softly, a pitifully weak expression of discomfort. "Shhh," she murmured soothingly, reaching out to run a gentle hand over his forehead. "It's all right."

Why had there been a distinct note of disapproval in Merlin's voice? What reason had there been behind the rather pointed references to Arthur?

She clapped a hand her mouth as she was hit by the full implication of the almost... _accusatory_ behavior. He must think she still had feelings for Lancelot, to the point where it was dangerous to even allow her to get too close to him!

The realization made her furious, even as she continued her careful ministrations. What had she done to give anyone cause to be suspicious of her motives? She'd been completely faithful to Arthur, and had no intention of doing anything to dishonor their relationship in the foreseeable future. It was unfair and even a little invasive to hold her under scrutiny simply because she'd come upstairs to check on his injuries.

"Gwen..."

She barely breathed as she looked down into Lancelot's open eyes. They were heavily bloodshot and slightly unfocused, but he obviously recognized her as the corners of his mouth turned up in a ghost of a smile.

"Yes, it's me," she responded quietly. "Can I get you anything?"

"Water," he managed to croak out. "Please."

She hurried over to the table and poured him a cup, and then held it out to him as she seated herself on the edge of the bed. He lifted a shaky hand, raising his head only a couple of inches off the pillow before letting it fall again with a frustrated groan. "Forgive me, I..."

"Oh, of course! I'm sorry. Here, let me help you." She slid one arm beneath his neck, careful to avoid his injury as she cradled his head against her chest and lifted the cup to his lips. He drank thirstily for a moment before slumping in her embrace, shifting his head slightly so his face was nestled against her breasts.

"Thank you," he mumbled, his words slightly slurred as he lost consciousness again.

_Lay him back on the pillows. Leave him to his rest and go back to the others._

She stayed right where she was, reluctant to deprive him of the solace of her body when he was soon slumbering far more peacefully than he had before. He was badly wounded; giving him comfort was not only harmless, but clearly the right thing to do. He'd fought valiantly on behalf of Camelot – for Arthur, for her, for all of them. Who could fault her for doing her best to ease his suffering?

But she wasn't thinking about the recent battle as she held his sleeping body in her arms. No, she was recalling a night when she'd found a wounded stranger lying in this bed. It was the same compulsion she'd felt all those years before when she stroked his hair and murmured soothing words to him – the instinctive urge to take care of someone who hadn't been cared for nearly enough in his life. It had been impossible to recognize back then, but now she understood.

There was no trace of youth in his features anymore, no hint of the boyish softness she remembered so well. Despite that, however, the expression hadn't changed at all. It was a quiet sort of vulnerability, the need for nothing more than a soothing touch.

Of course, this was a side he never showed during his waking hours. No, Lancelot was unfailingly strong, self-sufficient to a fault. He was the protector, the caretaker, the nurturer... to such an extreme that he'd never quite realized that sometimes the best way to care for others was to allow them to take care of you in return.

For a fleeting moment, she wondered if it had been her brief glimpse of that vulnerable side that had made her fall in love with him, or if it had been something else entirely. But that thought carried her down paths that were best left unexplored – the forbidden territory of smoldering looks and scorching kisses, impassioned promises, and an intensity that still took her breath away with the thought of all that once was and everything that could have been.

That face... deathly pale and haggard with pain, but still, _his_ face. How many times had it haunted her during all those solitary nights she'd spent imagining where he might be, or if she'd ever see him again? How often had that face been at the center of everything she'd thought she'd ever wanted – the blazing sun around which the planets of her deepest hopes and dreams had revolved?

But of course, that was over now. Was it wrong to remember the past? Memories did no harm to Arthur, had no effect on the life she'd chosen for herself. Yes, that made perfect sense… she'd even started to believe it when Lancelot suddenly shifted his head, his lips parting to release a disturbingly sensuous moan as he nuzzled sleepily against her breasts.

A flash of heat surged through her body, from the spot where his lips unknowingly brushed against a sensitive nipple, straight down to that place between her legs where she hadn't felt anything like that since...

She shut her eyes and then all she could see was that night in the forest, her fingers buried in his dark hair as he'd closed his mouth around that same nipple, driving her out of her mind with pure, incomprehensible pleasure. His hands, now resting so innocently on his stomach, yet so close to that place where she'd desperately wanted him to touch her…

But of course, that had never happened. Arthur had interrupted before it had gone that far.

But it wasn't Arthur who was staring at her when she lifted her head, ashamed of her body's treacherous reaction. It was Gaius who was studying her with an inscrutable expression on his face, before giving her a mild smile as he shuffled over to his table to retrieve a vial of potion.

"I... I should be going," she stuttered out. 

She shifted with the intention of lowering Lancelot back onto the pillows, only for him to press his face more insistently against her breasts as he let out a soft grunt of protest. _Not now!_ she groaned inwardly, nearly groaning for another reason entirely as one hand clutched weakly at her thigh.

"Hold him where he is for a moment longer, Gwen. It'll be easier to get this potion down his throat."

She sat there obediently, cheeks burning hot and probably an obvious shade of pink, as the elderly man handed her the vial.

"You'll need to hold his mouth open."

Oh, this couldn't be happening. She sucked in a deep breath, then brought her hand to Lancelot's face, struggling to ignore the realization that his lips were every bit as soft as she remembered.

"It will ease his pain," Gaius said softly as she dripped the murky brown liquid into his mouth.

Yes, his pain. Lancelot was injured, completely at her mercy, and here she was thinking about…

"Guinevere?"

Oh lord, could this get any worse?

"Arthur!" She looked up, flashing him what was probably the most insincere smile he'd ever received from her as she shifted Lancelot back onto the pillows and rose to her feet. "I was just..."

"She was just helping me care for our patient," Gaius interrupted smoothly as he plucked the empty vial out of her fingers. "Thank you, Gwen. I can take it from here."

"How is he?"

"Lancelot is recovering well, sire, all things considered," Gaius replied. "He just needs time to rest and recover his strength."

Arthur nodded. "I'm glad to hear it. Well, we'll leave you to it then."

And without another word, he took Gwen by the elbow and guided her out of the chamber.


	74. Guilty Conscience

#  **Chapter 74: Guilty Conscience**

* * *

Gwen had no need to be concerned over what had happened before Arthur's timely interruption. After all, why should she feel guilty, considering that Lancelot had been unconscious and badly injured during the time she'd spent with him? The situation couldn't have been more innocent, further proven by the fact that Arthur hadn't been the least bit suspicious upon finding her there.

Her reaction to Lancelot's nearness had been inappropriate, of course, but could she fault herself for that? Maybe it was unavoidable after having loved someone in the past... an attraction that always remained on some level, something a body instinctively remembered on close contact.

Yes, that had to be it – like an old battle wound that had fully healed with time, but still made itself known as a dull ache on a rainy day.

But that thought became a lot less convincing when Arthur pulled her into his chamber, making his intentions known as he drew her into a tight embrace. Alone in the candlelit room, he covered her lips with his own, a kiss that was soft and sweet as he gave her breast a gentle squeeze.

It was a liberty she'd allowed ever since their picnic in the forest. She didn't mind, and Arthur seemed to enjoy it; she'd pushed away any thoughts of how different it had been with Lancelot, reminding herself that unlike Arthur, he'd been touching her bare skin when he'd nearly driven her mad with desire. Of course that had been more arousing than being fondled through heavy layers of clothing.

Unfortunately, that theory was now blown to dust after the way her body had come alive at the barest brush of Lancelot's lips against her fully covered skin. Worse, he'd been unconscious at the time, not even aware of what he'd done.

What was wrong with her? It wasn't appropriate to be thinking about _him_ while Arthur was pulling her down into his lap, kissing her, stroking her, doing things that should have inflamed her senses, but didn't and never really had. Not with him.

"Arthur... we need to stop."

He pulled away, blue eyes a little hazy as he gave her an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Guinevere, I didn't mean to take advantage."

"It isn't that. I'm just tired, that's all. I should be getting home."

"Home?" he questioned vaguely, as if he didn't understand the meaning of the word. "I assumed you'd stay here in the palace. It's late and the city is a mess."

"You're probably right. Where shall I sleep?"

And then she cringed, hoping he wasn't going to suggest his own chambers. Suddenly, there was nothing she wanted more than a little time to herself.

"I'm sure one of the guest quarters will do for now, at least until we get things straightened out around here. There's so much to do, and with my father... it's too much to even think about quite yet."

"I know," she murmured, reaching for his hand and giving it a compassionate squeeze. "Try not to worry, Arthur. I'm sure if we work together, we'll have it sorted out in no time."

He responded with a tired smile. "You're right, of course. Maybe after my father has had a few days to rest, he'll be strong enough to resume his duties. I've never seen anyone who can put things in order as quickly as he can."

Gwen fought the urge to grimace, just as she always did when Uther was mentioned. No matter how much Arthur adored the king, it was impossible to forget he'd been responsible for the death of her own father, or that he'd condemned her to burn as a witch on two separate occasions. Sometimes it bothered her that Arthur seemed to overlook that so easily, but this wasn't the time for examining his shortcomings. She was too focused on her own.

"I'm sure he'll be fine," she said, her tone soft and reassuring. "Your father is very strong."

"Yes, he is," he agreed with a fond smile, pressing his lips ever so briefly against her cheek. "Goodnight, Guinevere. I'll see you in the morning."

* * *

A week later, and Lancelot was steadily improving. He was still restricted too bad most of the time thanks to Gaius's stern instructions, but with Merlin's assistance, he was permitted the occasional short walk up and down the corridor.

His shoulder still pained him more than he was willing to admit, and he tired more easily than usual. But he was growing stronger, quickly becoming impatient with his limitations as the others scurried about in their tireless efforts to repair the damage Morgana and her army had inflicted.

"I should be helping," he complained to Merlin one night as they shared a simple supper. "I feel so useless."

"Lancelot, you're the last person anyone would ever think of as useless. Are you kidding me? None of us would even be here if it weren't for you."

"That's kind of you, but I don't recall being the one who reached the Cup in time to save us all."

"No," Merlin said, grinning as he passed him a chunk of bread. "But I would've never gotten there at all if you hadn't held the soldiers back for as long as you did."

"You would've found a way, Merlin. You always do."

"As humble as ever. Well, I guess it's nice to know some things never change."

"Humble or not, I wish there was something I could do to help. You don't know how frustrating it is to just lay here all day while the rest of you are..."

"Being ordered around by Arthur? Trust me, Lancelot, I'd trade places with you in a second if I could get away with it. He's been downright insufferable lately."

"How's his father doing?"

Merlin's expression became more somber as he slowly shook his head. "No change. What Morgana did... I'm afraid he'll never be the same."

"I can understand that," Lancelot said softly, feeling a pang of sympathy for the man who'd treated him so harshly in the past. "What I don't understand is how no one ever knew Morgana was his daughter. Why was it kept a secret? And what happened to make her so vengeful? I know I was only acquainted with her for a few days, but she seemed to have such a good heart. I can't imagine..."

"I know." Merlin lapsed into silence, as if struggling with some inner conflict Lancelot didn't understand.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude."

"It isn't that. It's just... it's complicated."

"You know you can trust me."

Merlin sighed. "I know that. I do. More than anyone. It's just... you get so used to keeping secrets after a while, you know? It's hard to break that habit, even when you want to."

But despite his hesitance, he began to talk, his voice growing stronger and more certain as he lost himself in the story. He told Lancelot everything, from the discovery of Morgana's magic to his guilt over not helping her as much as he felt he should have. Explaining the poisoning was clearly the most difficult part; Lancelot laid a comforting hand on his shoulder as the other man's eyes grew suspiciously damp.

"After that, she was never the same. And I can't help believing that if I'd done something different, if I'd been there when she needed me, she would've never been so vulnerable to Morgause."

Lancelot shook his head, giving the bony shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You shouldn't blame yourself. Whatever you might have done or not done, Morgana made her own choices. You can't take responsibility for that."

"But if I'd just..."

"How many times have you been hurt by someone you cared for, Merlin? How many times have you felt betrayed? Did you react by trying to murder your friends? Of course you didn't."

"So what you're saying is that Morgana was evil all along, that she just needed an excuse to act on her nature?"

Lancelot hesitated. "No. But I do believe we all maintain control over the choices we make in this life, and that it's wrong for you to believe you forced her hand in any of this."

"Maybe you're right," Merlin said, sounding small for a moment before abruptly changing the subject. "What about you? I always knew you'd be back someday. Do you intend to stay this time? It would be nice to have you around for longer than a week or two."

"I'd like to stay for as long as I'm wanted. It might not seem like it, but leaving has never been something I particularly enjoy."

Merlin smiled. "Sir Lancelot. You know, Arthur intends on having all of you fully outfitted as soon as you're well enough to receive your cloak. Better late than never, eh?"

"Indeed," Lancelot said with a chuckle. "It's still a little difficult to believe. I never expected... never even thought..."

"I know. But you'll make a fine knight. I always knew you would."

"Thank you, Merlin."

As the sound of slow, shuffling footsteps suddenly echoed out in the corridor, Lancelot hastily shifted from the table back to the bed, pulling the sheet over himself just before the old physician entered the chamber.

* * *

"What?" Gwen stared at Arthur with a blank expression, certain she'd misunderstood.

"I know, I don't want to believe it either. But it's been a week now and he's shown no improvement. I know it's hard, but it's time to face the truth."

"Yes, I understand that, Arthur. What I mean is, what are you asking me to do?"

He sighed heavily, shooting a sad look at the man who was seated at the window on the other side of the spacious chamber. "Someone needs to be here to care for him. Someone I can trust. And you... well, now that your old position has been eliminated..."

"I was thinking I'd take on some other duty in the palace. Perhaps there might be room for me in the kitchens?" She cringed at the hint of desperation in her voice. "If not, I can always make my living as a seamstress. I really do love to sew, and I've never had much time for..."

"Guinevere, there's no need for that. There's a perfect position for you right here… and of course, you'd be paid well for your efforts."

"This isn't about money, Arthur. I just... isn't there someone else you can hire? I've never been trained as a healer..."

"No need to worry about that. Gaius will be on hand to take care of whatever needs might arise that you can't handle on your own. You'd only need to keep him company, help him with his meals, perhaps read to him from time to time. Tidy his chambers, keep his linens fresh, that sort of thing. Nothing you haven't done before. Just make sure he's comfortable."

She stared at him, aghast. "Surely there are any number of people who'd be better suited to this."

Arthur smiled, reaching out to take her hand. "Don't be so modest, Guinevere. You're far more skilled than you think you are."

He really didn't get it. Gwen studied his face with a great deal of bewilderment, wondering if it had crossed his mind, even for a second, that she must feel uncomfortable around Uther after everything he'd done to her. Her own father had died on the point of a sword because of this man, and now Arthur was asking her to spend her time seeing to his comfort?

"Please, Guinevere, he needs you. I need you to do this."

"I..." 

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him she wanted nothing to do with Uther, that she'd rather chew metal than lift a finger to help the unfeeling tyrant.

No, that wasn't what was bothering her. Not really. It was that after everything, having seen the devastation, terror, and heartbreak she'd suffered at Uther's hands, Arthur could still just assume she'd be all right with playing nursemaid without even asking how she felt about it. Was he really that blind? Or had he simply dismissed her possible discomfort as unimportant compared to his father's well-being?

Stupidity or callousness? She couldn't decide which possibility was worse.

Infuriating… she wanted to say "absolutely not", and then storm out of the chamber in a righteous huff. 

But then a fleeting image appeared in her mind, a pair of soft eyes filled with gratitude as she'd held a cup of water to parched lips. She saw a dark head cradled against her breast, weak and helpless, and yet the subject of countless dreams over the past week... one in particular from which she'd awoken with her hand between her thighs, already too far gone to stop herself. No, it wasn't Arthur's name she'd whispered in the darkness that night, nor his face she'd pictured when the sweet waves of release had flooded through her body.

What right did she have to criticize him over something as innocent as wanting to provide care for his sick father? Under the circumstances, it didn't even matter that he was violating her trust in the process… not when she had done the same, at least within the confines of her own mind.

And so she said nothing, simply nodded her assent.


	75. Kingdom of Secrets

#  **Chapter 75: Kingdom of Secrets**

* * *

As it turned out, caring for the ailing king wasn't as difficult as Gwen had expected. The twinge of resentment was still there, of course, brought to the forefront by memories of the tyrannical ruler who'd exacted such harsh punishments in the past. She nearly turned and fled the chamber on more than one occasion during that first week, intending to seek out Arthur and insist he hire another caretaker for his father.

But it soon became clear that the broken man she was obligated to serve bore no resemblance to the one she'd secretly despised. Even on the surface, he'd changed – smaller somehow, the hard lines of his features slackened by grief and weariness. His hair was more of a muted gray, closer to white than the shade of silver that had once reminded her of cold iron. Even his body was beginning to transform, the toned muscles of a former warrior growing soft as age exacted its triumph over the extended youthfulness granted by decades worth of strenuous physical activity.

His mannerisms were hesitant now, rather than bold and decisive as they'd always been in the past. When _this_ Uther reacted, his actions could almost be described as timid, unfamiliar to the point of absurdity compared with the man he'd been before. But even that wasn't as shocking as the changes to his voice on the rare occasions he spoke to her, the tremulous cadence of an old man echoing softly throughout the chamber as he politely requested a sip of water or an extra blanket.

 _Requested_ , not ordered. For that reason alone, she soon grew to find him fairly tolerable.

It really wasn't a bad job. The king spent most of his time sleeping or staring out the window, equally unresponsive to his surroundings in either case. She was responsible for his meals, making sure he received his medicine and that his bedding was kept fresh, as well as doing whatever else was needed to ensure his comfort. Occasionally she'd read to him, ignoring the fact that he never showed the slightest interest in the tall tales and legends that would've had anyone else laughing in delight or gasping in amazement.

But there were quite a few hours each day that required nothing more than her presence... an unfamiliar experience after so many years of working under Morgana's constant demands.

Most of the servants would've welcomed the slower pace. For Gwen, however, it was endlessly frustrating to have so much idle time on her hands. She'd always relied on physical activity as an escape from grief, confusion, anything she didn't particularly want to dwell on at that moment. But there was no hiding from her inner conflict in the silent, spotless chamber, with no company other than the ghost of a man who hardly seemed to be there at all.

And so she sat beside him day after day, pondering things that were even more inappropriate than they would've been otherwise, considering her present company. Sometimes a note of hysteria would enter her troubled mind, nearly making her laugh aloud as she considered the consequences of blurting out basically any of the topics that occupied her thoughts these days.

"By the way, Uther, I really _am_ involved with your only son and heir. I'm fairly certain he intends to make me his queen someday, though I have to confess, I still have unresolved feelings for this other man that I don't quite know how to deal with. His name is Lancelot... you remember him, don't you? Yes, he's the commoner who briefly became a knight a few years ago, the one you arrested and subsequently tried to banish after he risked his life to save the kingdom. Guess what? He's back now, and he's a knight again!"

"That's right, Merlin called on him for help when your traitorous daughter and her immortal army stole your throne, the same daughter who... well, let's not get into all that."

"Merlin... I'm not sure what to think about him. You see, it seems he has magic, something he's been hiding from all of us since he came to Camelot. I don't believe he means any harm, and it's easy enough to understand why he'd want to keep his powers a secret – you've been known to be rather inflexible about that sort of thing, sire. But it does make it difficult to trust him now, especially since he must've also been lying to me about Lancelot all along. After all, if he hadn't heard from him since we last parted, how would he have known where to write to seek his help?"

Of course, Gwen never gave in to these impulses. She tried to behave normally around Arthur, too, and never breathed a word to Merlin about his magic or any of the other things he'd obviously concealed from her. The secrecy was maddening, not exactly helped by the reminder that _secrets_ were why the kingdom of Camelot lay in shambles all around them, hundreds of innocent lives lost because the king had never learned the truth about his own daughter until far too late to prevent her treachery. 

Secrets were poison. Gwen understood that now.

And yet what choice did she have? Her hidden feelings for Lancelot couldn't possibly cause anything but pain were they ever revealed. She would just have to ignore them until she learned to think of him as nothing more than a friend. 

Merlin... telling Arthur what she'd overheard was out of the question. While the younger Pendragon wasn't the monster Uther had been, he was still extremely wary of magic. If Merlin _did_ have good intentions, the last thing she wanted was to see him banished, or an even worse punishment meted out in response to her confession. 

But confronting Merlin himself... no, that wouldn't work either. Until she was certain he was harmless, it was best to appear ignorant so she could keep an eye on him without arousing suspicion.

"Gwen?"

It was a couple of weeks later when Arthur caught her just as she was leaving Uther's chamber, her shoulders sagging in the aftermath of another long day left alone with her thoughts.

"Arthur," she managed with a weary smile. "How are the reconstruction efforts coming along?"

"Well enough. The lower town is almost completely repaired now; the knights have been helping the first wave of citizens move back into their homes."

She reached out and gave his arm a gentle squeeze. "That's wonderful! I hope my brother hasn't been slacking off on the job."

Clearly missing her weak attempt at a joke, Arthur gave her a solemn look. "On the contrary. Elyan has been working very hard, as have Percival and Gwaine. I tell you, Guinevere, one of the smartest things I ever did was taking those three into my service. I've never seen men who take their duties so seriously."

"I'm glad to hear it. How's... Lancelot?"

If he noticed the catch in her voice, he gave no indication of it. "Much improved. In fact, that's why I wanted to speak to you. Well, not the only reason, but..."

Gwen froze. "Yes?"

"Gaius says he's well enough to resume normal activity, though more strenuous training will have to wait a bit longer. But he's up and around now, so I thought it was time to give the new knights their uniforms. You know, make it official."

"Oh," she responded, relaxing somewhat. "I'm sure they'd love that. Would you like me to attend the ceremony?"

Arthur smiled. "I had something a little different in mind."

* * *

Four men stood around Gwen's kitchen table, watching quietly as she sorted through the pile of red cloaks that had been delivered earlier that day. A fifth, already clad in full uniform, waited by the door.

"You first," she said softly to Elyan, and then gazed up at her brother as she wrapped the fine woolen fabric around his shoulders.

It was a sign of changing times, Arthur had said, having _her_ be the one to outfit his most trusted knights in the most obvious symbol of their honor, their loyalty, their importance in the eyes of the man they served.

"Gwaine?"

The dark haired man stepped forward, giving her a devilish wink as she fastened the cloak around his neck. She smiled up at him in gratitude – Gwaine could always be counted on to put her at ease.

"Percival?"

Six horses waited in the stables, a fine mount that had belonged to Sir Leon for years, along with five others that had been carefully selected from the cream of Arthur's royal stock. Having left the palace as a maidservant, four commoners, and the man known as the most loyal of all the Knights of Camelot, they'd return as equals, invaluable assets to the kingdom the young prince hoped to build from this moment forward.

"Lancelot?" Gwen said at last.

Her fingers trembled as she fumbled with the clasp, awash in memories of her younger self measuring the circumference of Lancelot's neck as he'd stuttered and blushed, taking her breath away with his unexpected flatteries. Had that happened in this very same room? Was this the Lancelot who'd stood before her then, eager yet uncertain as she'd helped him don his first set of armor? 

He was every inch a man now, showing no trace of the innocence that had caused him to fidget in response to her closeness all those years before. And yet she felt it as her fingers accidentally brushed the bare skin just below his ear – a slight quiver that rippled through his body in response to her touch.

"Sorry," she mumbled under her breath, taking a hasty step backward.

He just shook his head, flashing a small smile in her general direction as he avoided her eyes.

"Right then," she addressed them all, just wanting to get it over with. "Ready?"

Crowds of citizens gathered to watch as they passed through the lower town, still somewhat subdued, yet smiling as they murmured approvingly to one another. That had been another show of wisdom on Arthur's part – with the exception of Lancelot, of course, the new knights had been working with these people every day, helping them repair their homes and rebuild their shattered lives. Far more than service in a battle that the common folk had never witnessed, such actions had earned the overwhelming sense of faith that surrounded them as they made their slow procession to the palace.

Gwen's eyes fell on Arthur as he rose to his feet, descending the palace steps with a wide smile on his face. This had been part of his plan, too, that he'd be the one to help her down from her mount, making his choice abundantly clear to all onlookers. No explanations, no apologies, just... truth.

After weeks of confusion, that simple show of honesty was enough of a relief for Gwen to slide into his arms without a second thought, gratefully accepting a kiss that almost made her believe everything would be all right after all.

Almost.

* * *

"How are you feeling?"

Lancelot looked up in surprise to find Merlin standing in front of him with a concerned expression on his face. He set down the empty potion vial he'd been mindlessly toying with, meeting his friend's eyes with a benign smile.

"I'm fine, Merlin. Honestly, it doesn't even hurt anymore."

That was a lie on both counts – there was an unpleasant twinge in his shoulder, though that was nothing compared with the ache in his heart. Uncertain as to which one Merlin was referring to, he shifted uncomfortably, fixing his eyes on the scattering of books and medicinal ingredients that covered the table.

"You can stay one more night if you like. Gaius wouldn't mind."

"No," Lancelot said, sighing in relief at the change of topic. "Thank you, but I've imposed on the two of you long enough. I have my own chamber now. There's no reason..."

"Well, just remember that you can stop by anytime."

"Thank you, Merlin."

"Are you sure you're okay? You've been really quiet ever since you returned to the palace. I guess I thought you'd be a little more excited. I mean, that it's official now."

"I'm happy," he said, rising to gather his few possessions. "Of course I am. It's just... I'm a little tired, that's all. I suppose I'm still getting my strength back."

Merlin seemed to accept that. "You'll be back in training before you know it. I'm sure you'll feel much more like yourself again with a sword in your hand."

Lancelot smiled. "You're probably right."

"Of course, now that you're a knight, that means I'll have to polish your armor, clean your boots..."

"Merlin."

"See to your horse, tidy your chambers..."

_"Merlin."_

His friend paused, looking up at him with inquisitive blue eyes. "Yes?"

"That's _never_ going to happen. I'm perfectly capable of looking after my own needs."

"Right. You haven't been around long enough to know how it works. Believe me, the second Arthur decides I don't have enough to do around here, he'll assign me to the rest of you to prevent any slacking off. Not that I mind, of course... at least the rest of you won't be calling me an idiot every time I..."

"Why do you allow it?" Lancelot interrupted quietly.

Merlin hesitated, obviously surprised. "You know why. Better than anyone."

"Yes, I understand your loyalty, and why you work so hard on Arthur's behalf. But the way he treats you sometimes..."

It had finally struck him just a few days before, when Arthur had barged into the chamber demanding to know the whereabouts of his worthless excuse for a servant. Lancelot had tried to convince himself it was only an isolated incident, but other memories had pricked at the edge of his consciousness... any number of disparaging comments he couldn't quite reconcile with the man he'd always believed to be so kind.

In retrospect, it had bothered him since his return, ever since that first night he'd lain beside Merlin in the darkness and told his friend that he was the one Arthur should have knighted. Why hadn't that happened? 

Granted, Arthur didn't know just how much Merlin had done for him in the past. But even without any knowledge of magic, he'd stood beside the man he served time and time again, brave, faithful, never shrinking from danger. Why wasn't he given a little more credit for that?

Whatever the reason, it wasn't right... particularly from a man who put such a strong emphasis on equality.

"He doesn't mean it," Merlin mumbled, though the uncertainty in his expression told a different story.

"Merlin..."

"It's simpler this way. The less he thinks of me, the easier it is to hide who I really am."

"That's still no excuse. He shouldn't…"

Merlin just shook his head, dissolving the heavy atmosphere with a cheerful grin. "It isn't so bad. Don't worry, I find my own ways to pay him back for it."

"Now that I can believe," Lancelot chuckled, settling the strap of his bag over his uninjured shoulder. He flashed a quick smile at Gaius as the elderly physician shuffled into the chamber, bidding a fond if rather hasty farewell to both men before stepping out into the deserted corridor.

He wasn't looking forward to spending the first of many nights alone, left with nothing to do but dwell on the image of Gwen and Arthur locked in a loving embrace. Hours later and it still haunted him, those few agonizing seconds before he'd forced himself to look away. She'd seemed so happy, so confident with her new place in the world. It was everything he still believed she deserved, but that didn't mean it was easy to sit by and watch it happen either.

He'd just have to learn to look away a little more quickly in the future, while hoping a day would come where it wouldn't hurt so much.


	76. Shattered Peace

#  **Chapter 76: Shattered Peace**

* * *

Nearly a year passed in relative tranquility as the kingdom of Camelot focused on restoring its battered lands to their former glory. After a few weeks of training, the knights were sent forth on a succession of lengthy quests in order to aid the reconstruction efforts – assisting with repairs in the outlying villages, delivering much needed supplies to farmers who'd had their crops destroyed, and turning to Camelot's allies for additional help wherever it was needed.

Sir Lancelot, with his soft, persuasive voice and impeccable manners, was a natural at appealing to the sympathies of the stubborn merchants and high lords throughout the neighboring kingdoms. This was one of many duties that came to him instinctively; he rarely found himself struggling to understand what was expected of him as his companions often did.

As time passed, an unspoken hierarchy developed among the knights. Sir Leon and Lancelot were at the forefront, the first by right of experience, and the second due to his unparalled skill in combat and tireless dedication to his new role. Gwaine followed close behind, strong fighting instincts and eagerness to serve only weakened by a tendency to act a little too rashly at times. Percival and Elyan brought up the rear, the former being a born follower who was content to step back and allow others to make the decisions, and the latter...

Elyan never openly expressed his feelings, but it didn't take long for Lancelot to pick up on subtle signs of resentment in the other man's behavior. It was easy to assume that the mistrust in Elyan's eyes had something to do with the night he'd discovered Lancelot and Gwen talking alone, but that seemed increasingly unlikely after a while; Lancelot hadn't even spoken to Gwen in months, taking pains to keep a respectful distance at all times.

No, it became obvious in time that this went beyond the reaction of a protective brother. The further Lancelot advanced within the small group of knights, the more coldly Elyan acted toward him in response. And the first time Arthur had chosen Lancelot to lead his own patrol, he'd glanced over to find the other man actually glaring at him.

Despite that, however, Lancelot was overjoyed with his new place in the world. The easy camaraderie he grew to share with the other knights was immensely comforting after spending so much of his life in solitude, and though he was away from Camelot too frequently to enjoy Merlin's company very often, the time they did manage to set aside for a bit of quiet conversation gradually began to make up for the long years of separation.

He finally had a real home, cherished friends, and a deep sense of purpose... the life he'd always wanted for himself. It should have been enough to replace what he'd sacrificed, allowing him to let go of past regrets.

Unfortunately, it wasn't.

Sometimes he could almost forget that he'd lost Gwen, a temporary relief that came upon him whenever the demands of his new duties simply didn't leave any room to reflect upon his hidden feelings. His quarters were at the opposite end of the palace from the king's chambers where she performed her caretaker duties, also blessedly far removed from the rooms belonging to Prince Arthur – to his immense relief, there was little chance of stumbling upon some private liaison between the couple.

Even when he was inside the city rather than out on one of his numerous patrols, he often didn't see her for days, even weeks at a time. It only ever seemed to happen from a distance, or when she attended one of Arthur's councils.

Her presence at these meetings was frequent during the first couple months, obligating him to swallow his jealousy and avert his eyes whenever she leaned over to whisper in Arthur's ear or placed a supportive hand on his shoulder while he addressed the others. But after the arrival of Lord Agravaine, her participation was quickly overshadowed by the forceful man who almost immediately insinuated himself into the position of Arthur's chief advisor.

This subtle shift of power left Lancelot conflicted – on one hand, he was spared any displays of affection between the pair as Gwen gradually began to assume her former position as a mere observer. But on the other, he couldn't help feeling offended on her behalf. She had done as much for the kingdom as anyone else whose opinion Arthur held in high esteem; why should she be shuffled aside in favor of a man that was more or less a stranger to all of them?

More than that, how could Arthur allow such a thing to happen? 

It certainly didn't help matters that the knights were less than comfortable with the sudden involvement Agravaine had in their lives as well. There was something about Arthur's uncle that just felt... _wrong_ , somehow. Perhaps it was the fact that he'd arrived from out of nowhere at a suspiciously opportune moment. Maybe it was the exaggerated displays of respectful obedience, when the arrogant gleam in his eyes suggested the opposite. 

Whatever it was, Lancelot couldn't quite bring himself to trust the man, and even though they were far too loyal to Arthur to openly express their doubts, he couldn't help but notice the same wariness in the eyes of his companions.

But there were bigger things to worry about on the day that a frantic Sir Leon returned from a routine patrol to report that Morgana had been found... leading to a confrontation that had resulted in the deaths of two of Camelot's finest knights.

* * *

"Samhain," Arthur announced gravely. "It is the time of year when we feel closest to the spirits of our ancestors. It is a time to remember those we have lost, to celebrate their passing."

The banquet hall was decorated beautifully, a wealth of sumptuous food and rich wine spread out before the small gathering of knights, courtiers, and advisors. Even the seemingly cheerful atmosphere couldn't dissipate the tension in the room, however; Samhain was a more subdued celebration even under normal circumstances, but tonight, the mood was downright somber.

Morgana... a single name had shattered the fragile veneer of security that had only recently begun to solidify into something more substantial. Just one name shifted them all back to a world where everything might easily fall apart at any moment... an existence where nothing, not even the sunrise, could be taken for granted. And with that knowledge, Camelot was under attack once more, its citizens forced to go through the motions of their normal lives even as they waited for the blow to fall.

A quiet sense of dread, nearly forgotten after so many months of peace, was pervasive as the attendants made a valiant effort at ordinary conversation. For Lancelot, however, the best he could manage was a wan smile or a polite nod at the proper moment – his attention was fixed on Merlin, which was why he was the first to notice something was wrong.

Later, he would wonder why Arthur had reacted with nothing more than a sigh of exasperation in response to Merlin's collapse. He'd question why, out of all the knights, he'd been the only one to take any action. In the moment, however, he thought of nothing but reaching his fallen friend, fear gripping his heart as he tried to rouse Merlin to no avail.

"To my chamber," Gaius commanded tersely, and then the unconscious man was lifted into Lancelot's arms and rushed from the hall. Icy cold, not shivering but outright shuddering... Lancelot cradled Merlin's slender body close to his chest as he rushed through the corridors, willing his own heat to somehow penetrate the frigid skin he could feel even through layers of chain mail and padding.

 _Please be all right, Merlin,_ a voice chanted over and over in his head. _Please be all right._

All of Gaius's suggested remedies had no effect, nor did the old physician seem to have any definite idea of what the ailment might be. All Lancelot could do was keep piling on the blankets while listening to a succession of rather disjointed mutterings, hoping for anything, that might help his friend. Nobody could hope to survive this way for long... five blankets, six, and Merlin's skin still felt like a stone picked from the ground in the dead of winter.

"Do you think this has something to do with magic?" he finally questioned aloud, frustrated at Gaius's careful avoidance of the topic.

The other man gave him a sharp glance. "I'm almost certain of it."

"Perhaps there's something you could do... maybe some spell..."

"Lancelot, you know magic is forbidden in this kingdom," Gaius said stiffly, before he relaxed with a sigh. "Besides, whatever this is, it's beyond my power to heal. Merlin will just have to fight it himself, but try not to worry. He has strength beyond our comprehension."

"I know that," Lancelot said softly. "I just wish I could help him."

Gaius gave his shoulder a comforting pat. "So do I, dear boy. You don't know how many times..."

Someone pounded on the door to the outer chamber just then; Gaius raised his head with an expression of alarm. "Stay with him while I see what that's about."

"Of course."

Lancelot tucked the blankets more tightly around Merlin's still form – was it just his imagination, or did the hand he'd touched seem the slightest bit warmer?

"Has he sobered up yet?" Arthur's voice echoed through the little bedchamber, low and muffled from the other side of the closed door. "There's still a lot of cleaning up to do."

"Merlin isn't drunk, sire. He's... he's not feeling well."

Arthur let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a huff of impatience. "I've heard that one before. Tell him to report downstairs in ten minutes, or..."

"Merlin is sleeping. As his physician, I must insist he be allowed to rest."

"It isn't serious, is it? He's not dying?"

"No, sire, of course not."

The momentary tone of concern disappeared. "Well, I expect him to report to my chambers bright and early in the morning. No excuses this time."

"No excuses," Gaius replied somewhat vaguely as the chamber door closed with a resounding thud.

The old physician was back at Lancelot's side only a few seconds later. "He's warmer," he observed, pressing the palm of his wrinkled hand against the pale forehead. "Not trembling as much as he was either. That's a good sign. A very good sign."

Lancelot breathed a sigh of relief. "Then it isn't my imagination."

"Indeed not. Whatever this is, he seems to be coming out of it. I imagine he'll be awake in another hour or two."

"I don't mind staying until then."

"No, Lancelot. The danger has passed, and you need your rest as much as he does. I fear there are dark times ahead."

* * *

 _Does anyone realize they've been living in a fog until they come out of it?_ Gwen wondered as she absently draped a blanket around the king's shoulders.

She watched from the window as the knights rode beyond the city gates, sensing an urgency in their motions that had been absent for the past year or so of lazy training sessions and peaceful quests. There was only one cause for their haste that she could think of – a name that made her feel as if she'd been hit by a bucket of icy water in the middle of a deep slumber. 

Morgana.

Arthur hadn't spoken to her since the day before, but she'd heard it in whispers from the other servants when she'd gone out to fetch Uther's breakfast. The meal lay untouched, as most of them did without a great deal of prodding, but for once, she was too distracted to even begin the long process of persuading the king to eat.

Even the thought of danger was an abrupt awakening from the dreamlike state she'd existed in for more months than she could count. She rarely left these chambers during her waking hours anymore; Agravaine's growing influence and the king's dwindling health keeping her separated from the world beyond the mindless duties she performed each day. Three meals, two doses of medicine, one change of clothes, clean linens on Tuesdays and Fridays, sponge baths on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays...

Visits with Arthur had become less frequent, and even when they happened, she was often too tired to be good company during their time together. These stolen moments always happened late in the evening, when the king was asleep and there were no prying eyes to see. The disappointment in Arthur's expression whenever she excused herself from one of their meetings made her feel incredibly guilty, but how could she make him understand that a day of doing nothing was somehow more exhausting than his own busy schedule?

If they'd been any other couple, the lack of quality time might have created a rift between them. But Arthur and Gwen had always been obligated to work within limitations that prevented them from being alone together very often, so it seemed relatively normal for that to continue.

Gwen tried not to think about how little things had changed, despite the temporary shift that had immediately followed Morgana's defeat. Arthur had been affectionate around others, even inviting her input at public council meetings. But when Agravaine had come along, she'd been relegated to at least the outward appearance of being nothing more than a servant all over again.

"Agravaine was raised according the old traditions, Guinevere," he'd explained when she'd given voice to her concerns. "It would be a shock to drop it on him from out of nowhere; we have to give him time to get used to the idea."

Ordinarily, she would've questioned why either of them should care about the opinion of a man she'd never even seen in Camelot in the past. She might have expressed her frustrations at having their relationship pushed back into secrecy, or even demanded that he take a stand. But now... in many ways, it made life easier. No more dealing with the discomfort of carrying on with Arthur in Lancelot 's company, far easier to excuse her reluctance to take things further than a few kisses in private.

Until Arthur was prepared to acknowledge her as his choice, he couldn't exactly expect her to go to bed with him, could he? And of course, he didn't... the need was there when a hand brushed across her breast, or she inadvertently felt the evidence of his arousal. But at the first sign of discomfort, he'd immediately withdraw, disappointment quickly suppressed by the understanding in his gaze.

Arthur was unfailingly honorable when it came to these things, and she clung to any excuse that allowed her to ignore her real reasons for refusing him... reasons she still didn't completely understand.

"Where are they going?" Gwen started in surprise at the sound of Uther's voice, tentative and rusty from lack of use.

"Just a routine patrol, sire. Nothing to worry about. Shall I read to you for a while? We still haven't finished _Myths and Legends of the Ancient Kings_."

"Mmm."

The rest of the day passed peacefully enough – a bit of reading, an afternoon nap, a few bites of supper after quite a bit of heavy coaxing. It was enough for Gwen to convince herself that the name upon the other servants' lips had been nothing more than idle gossip, and the urgency with which the knights had ridden forth was the product of her overactive imagination.

She truly believed that... until the sun set and all hell broke loose.


	77. Plunged into Darkness

#  **Chapter 77: Plunged into Darkness**

* * *

"Bloody hell..." Gwaine muttered under his breath.

"Keep your flames aloft when we enter the city!" Arthur commanded brusquely. "Knights, distribute as many torches as you can! Raid stacks of firewood, break up any structure that is no longer in use... whatever you can do. Protect the people, but more importantly, look out for yourselves. You're of no use to anyone if you get yourself killed. Merlin, get to the palace and help Gaius. I'm sure he has his hands full."

"Yes, sire," the chorus of voices echoed in response. If some of them couldn't quite hide the fear in their eyes, the rest pretended not to notice.

The lower town was in chaos – only a few steps beyond the gate and the men were forced to dismount, picking their way around various wreckage and far too many fallen bodies. All around them were screams of terror, noises that weren't half as chilling as the fleeting absence of sound whenever another voice abruptly choked off into silence. Piercing howls assaulted their ears, frigid dampness crept into their bones, and all the while, the macabre, skeletal faces that seemed to be formed of nothing more than ashen mist swept down from the skies above to deliver instant death.

Lancelot was already exhausted after the day's hard ride, a pervasive weariness that was mirrored back at him in the drawn features of his companions. There were no breaks, however, not even a moment for any of them to sit down and catch his breath. How could they rest when there were more torches to be delivered, more frightened citizens to be ushered to safety?

It was only when gray light crept over the horizon, bringing an end to the night of inexplicable terror, that they trudged back to the palace and dutifully reported to Arthur for additional orders.

The prince looked downright haggard when they found him in the Council Chamber, slumping heavily against the wall as he rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "Get a few hours of sleep, all of you," he said tiredly. "Be back here at noon."

Lancelot practically staggered to his chamber, not even pausing to remove his mail before falling across the bed and drifting off into a restless sleep that was filled with visions of countless disembodied faces jeering at him as his sword slashed through empty air.

He was awake again before he knew it, eyes burning from grit and smoke and far too little rest. Joining the others for a silent brunch, he forced himself to choke down a plate of eggs and sausages, ignoring his lack of appetite with the reminder that he would need all the strength he could get before the day was over. Arthur reappeared halfway through the meal, looking so worn down that it didn't seem likely he'd slept at all.

"Our torches are nearly depleted," he told them all gravely. "This afternoon, I need you to take the supply wagons out into the forest; gather as much fuel as you can. We're fortunate in one thing at least – dry wood is plentiful this time of year."

"Sire, if I might ask a question?"

"Yes, Elyan?"

"Is there nothing we can do? Surely there must be a way to destroy these things."

Arthur sighed heavily. "If there is, we haven't found it yet. Gaius is searching all the ancient texts as we speak, books that deal with this sort of... magic. We can only hope that a solution is close at hand; in the meantime, we must use the knowledge we do have in an effort to prevent as many deaths as possible."

"Yes, sire. Of course."

* * *

The first few hours dragged on like years, and then the last couple flashed by like minutes as Lancelot chopped, hauled, sweated and bled throughout the tedious process of filling wagon after wagon with dry tinder. Exhausted to the point where even speech was a struggle, he and the other knights worked in anxious silence, each man raising his eyes to the horizon as the sun began to dip below the trees.

"This will have to be the last load," he said gruffly, heaving a final armful of branches on top of a pile that managed to look overwhelming, yet completely insubstantial at the same time. "Let us hope it will be enough."

Gaius was waiting with Arthur when they arrived to receive their next set of orders. Five vials were sitting on the table, filled with some murky orange liquid that seemed to shimmer in the dimly lit chamber.

"Take one and drink it," the old physician instructed them with a grim expression on his wrinkled face. "It will give you the strength to last the night."

The potion tasted awful, but each of the knights swallowed it without complaint. Lancelot instantly felt his weariness fading away, replaced by a restless energy that left him wishing he was back out in the forest with an axe in his hand, feeling the sweet burn in his muscles as he chopped away at the unyielding wood.

"All of you, make your way to the lower town," Arthur commanded.

* * *

"So many dead," Gwen said sadly, raising the sheet to cover the frozen face of one of the kitchen servants, a younger woman who'd always had a smile and a kind word for anyone who'd crossed her path. "It's been two nights now, Gaius. Is there nothing anyone can do to stop it?"

He released a heavy sigh. "I don't know, Gwen. I'll have to speak with Arthur. Either way, we've done all we can for these people. You should return to the king."

Just the thought of sitting idly by while the kingdom was in chaos was enough for Gwen to take a sharp detour just as she reached Uther's chamber. She needed to do _something_ , perhaps talk to someone who could give her answers beyond the little she already knew. Arthur hadn't spoken to her at all, and Gaius... whatever he knew, he obviously wasn't willing to reveal it just yet. Perhaps Merlin?

She checked the physician's chamber, the kitchens, Arthur's room, and even the stables, more as an excuse to walk off some of her nervous energy than believing she'd find him in any of those places. If Arthur was in the Council Chamber, as he'd been almost nonstop for the past two days, then Merlin was likely in attendance as well. She knew better than to interrupt a meeting, especially if Agravaine were there, but maybe if Merlin slipped out to retrieve refreshments or perform some other errand, she might be able to catch him and discover what was really going on.

Changing direction again, she abandoned the main entrance for one of the more secluded passageways the servants often used. As she drew closer, she realized the door had been left slightly ajar; any guilt she might've felt over eavesdropping was swiftly overruled by sheer frustration over her own ignorance. All she wanted was the truth.

"All I'm asking for is a way to fight them."

Arthur sounded tired, strained, and incredibly sad. Gwen's heart twisted in sympathy for him – no doubt he was blaming himself for his people's suffering, even though it couldn't possibly be his fault. This was too much... far too heavy a burden to carry upon his young shoulders when he was only beginning to learn what it meant to be in charge. Part of her couldn't help wishing Uther would make some miraculous recovery, if for no other reason than to spare Arthur the brunt of this catastrophe.

"I fear the Dorocha can't be defeated by swords and arrows, sire. If I am right, and the veil between the worlds is torn, then there's only one path open to us – to travel to the Isle of the Blessed and repair it."

"And how do I do that?"

"I'm not sure. But for the tear to be created would've required a blood sacrifice. To seal it will require another."

Gwen bit her lip in response to Gaius's somber words. _Is he saying... does he mean Arthur will have to kill someone to bring an end to this? Surely there has to be another way. Arthur would never be able to..._

"We ride before nightfall."

"And who will be the sacrifice?"

With a sick feeling, she already knew exactly how Arthur would respond before the words ever left his mouth.

"If laying down my life will spare the people of Camelot, then that is what I must do."

* * *

Arthur was with his father by the time she returned to her duties, speaking softly with tears in his eyes while the older man stared blankly out the window. It was a heartbreaking scene, stripping away the years to leave a lost little boy in place of the leader he'd been forced to become long before he was ready to take on so much responsibility.

It hadn't begun when the king had fallen ill, though it had definitely intensified during the past year. But long before that even, she couldn't remember a time when Arthur hadn't been obligated to serve the kingdom. Even as a youth, he'd been charged with leading entire patrols of men into danger, making decisions that determined whether they lived or died.

He'd never had the freedom to make his own choices, really, no opportunity to let go and just be _Arthur_ without also being the Prince of Camelot. Everything was in preparation for the future, or part of some obligation that came along with his position... all for the kingdom, which he now intended to die for.

Gwen had known that all along, forever torn between the urge to nurture the boy who'd never had the chance to be a boy at all, and the need to encourage the man who'd eventually have the power to build the kingdom of her dreams. 

He clung to her like a child when they said their farewells; she was relieved when he didn't seem to need any other kind of physical affection. It was difficult to reconcile the almost motherly role she played in their relationship with the lover he expected her to be the rest of the time. Perhaps that was why it was so difficult for her to feel much passion for him... managing the constant switch was simply beyond her capabilities.

Maybe it would be easier as he matured and grew confident in his role as leader. Maybe when he stopped needing her to scold and coddle him so much, it would be possible to respond to him as the man he'd become, forgetting the child underneath who'd still craved a mother's guidance.

Someday... if he managed to live that long.

Eventually, she let him go, fretting to herself over the terrible thing he was determined to do. She said nothing beyond urging him to take care of himself, reluctant to admit she'd eavesdropped on his conversation. Besides, she could tell from the stubborn set of his jaw that all the protests in the world wouldn't change his mind anyway.

What else could she do? With the men riding out within the hour, she was swiftly running out of time. Would any of them even realize Arthur's true intentions before it was too late?

Her first instinct was to run to Merlin, to demand that he use his magic to prevent this atrocity. If Arthur sacrificed himself, not only would she lose one of the people she cherished most, but the entire kingdom would be lost. Who would rule in his stead? The repulsive Agravaine... or worse? Morgana would face little opposition if she returned to claim the throne if the kingdom were already broken, and what would follow would be unimaginable. Tyranny, destruction, and death... so much death.

But lingering uncertainty prevented Gwen from seeking out her old friend. As much as she wanted to believe Merlin meant no harm, that he could possibly even help in this dire situation, it was magic that had subjected them all to these horrors to begin with. Besides, if he'd had the power to put a stop to it, wouldn't he have already done so?

Who else could she turn to?

And then it came to her; she smiled for the first time in days as she walked down the palace steps, looking for the one person she suddenly believed could make all the difference.

Lancelot wouldn't let Arthur come to harm. Beyond that, he was likely the only man among the knights with the strength to intervene if it became neccessary to do so. He had sound judgment and a keen mind; he'd convince Arthur this plan was madness, persuade him to pause, take stock of what they knew about the Dorocha, and then find another solution.

Indeed, he had a way of rekindling hope when everything seemed lost, achieving the impossible despite all the odds against him. He'd destroyed the Griffin when no one else in the kingdom had been able to so much as wound the creature, then had helped her escape from a fortress where he'd been outnumbered by at least forty to one. And when he'd teamed up with Merlin, an entire immortal army had been blown to dust thanks to whatever they'd done.

That was another good point – he knew about Merlin's magic and obviously had for quite some time. He would know whether or not they should be seeking help from that direction.

Yes, when it came to the most dire situations, Lancelot didn't know how to fail… especially where the people he cared about were concerned.

He was handsome, almost breathtakingly so, as he smiled and strode over to meet her on the green. She stubbornly ignored her body's reaction to his nearness, reminding herself there were far more important things to worry about at the moment.

"Will you grant me a favor?"

"Anything," he said softly, and she knew he meant it.

She didn't want to confess to her eavesdropping, not to this man who'd probably wouldn't even dream of doing such a thing. And so she merely asked him to keep Arthur safe, to bring him home, knowing in her heart that he'd take her request to heart, even overruling Arthur's direct orders just to keep his promise to her. 

That was Lancelot... when he made a vow, it was absolute.

It seemed strange to be asking her former love to protect the man who'd served as his replacement… until she reminded herself that Lancelot had left her, not the other way around. Besides, judging by his mild smiles and distant politeness over the past year, he no longer felt anything for her beyond friendship.

She was saddened by the thought as she walked back to the palace. But she breathed a sigh of relief at the same time, finding it hard to believe that any harm could befall the small group of knights as they rode out to save the kingdom. A single pair of soft brown eyes had laid all her fears to rest, filled with a quiet conviction that all would be well. He'd make sure of it.

It was her absolute faith in Lancelot that allowed her to persist in this belief... at least until she realized the enormity of what she'd done.


	78. Consumed by Regret

#  **Chapter 78: Consumed by Regret**

* * *

The Dorocha killed instantly and without exception, yet Merlin had managed to survive a direct hit. He might be frigid in the aftermath, unresponsive to a frightening degree, but he was very much alive... at least for the time being.

Of course, Lancelot knew magic could be the only explanation, being as he was well aware of the other man's abilities. But that led him to wonder why his companions didn't question it at all. From their perspective, it shouldn't have even been within the realm of possibility.

Not for the first time, he couldn't help wondering whether Arthur and the others were as ignorant as they appeared to be. Could it be that they were simply in denial? Even during his brief time in Camelot, Lancelot could recall several situations where there'd clearly been some magical intervention… always when Merlin was close at hand. It seemed impossible that no one else had noticed anything unusual, or made what seemed like an obvious connection.

For now, however, the only thing that mattered was escorting the fallen man back to Camelot with all due haste. Lancelot didn't hesitate before volunteering himself for the journey – vow or no vow, he wasn't foolish enough to believe the strength of his sword would make much difference in the battle to come.

No... they needed Merlin. 

Whether or not the others were willing to admit it, even the most seasoned warriors were no match for the evil forces they were riding out to face; recent experience had made it obvious that the sharpness of their blades would mean nothing if they didn't have magic on their side. And while it was all well and good to go down fighting, it wasn't only their own lives they'd be sacrificing if they failed in their mission. There were hundreds of innocent people relying on them to defeat this menace, not simply to die in the attempt.

Was Merlin's determined secrecy even the wisest course of action anymore? That was another question Lancelot frequently asked himself. It seemed as if every crisis balanced on a knife's edge, magical defenses forever limited by Merlin's constant struggle to prevent others from discovering his true identity. How different might their lives be if he was allowed to practice his gifts openly, with the support of Arthur and the vast forces of Camelot behind him?

Now more than ever, it seemed like the kingdom needed to recognize one unavoidable truth – none of them could hope to survive without the help of the sorcerer who silently protected them all.

But it was not his secret to tell... not even when he suspected Merlin's hesitance to reveal himself was based more in fear than reality. His personal faith argued that Arthur was a just man, honorable and full of good intentions; surely he wouldn't condemn the friend who'd stood beside him for so many years? If he was permitted to know the truth about Merlin, wouldn't he come to recognize that not all magic was evil, that it might indeed be a necessary weapon in ensuring a safer world?

Perhaps... perhaps not. As much as Lancelot admired Arthur, he was far past the days of placing him on a pedestal, blind to his shortcomings. Well-meaning or not, the man could definitely be stubborn and narrowminded, and he still cleaved to many of the misguided ideals impressed upon him by his father. It would be nice to believe that the strength of a long-lasting friendship would be enough to overcome those prejudices, but without something more substantial to base those hopes on, it was easy to understand Merlin's hesitance to reveal himself for who he truly was.

In the meantime, it was Lancelot's duty to make sure his ailing friend would have the chance to come into his own someday, when Arthur was ready to accept the truth. Merlin _had_ to survive... the thought of him dying here in the wilderness without ever receiving the recognition he deserved was incomprehensible.

"Hold on just a little longer," he murmured to his silent companion. "We'll find a place to stop soon, and then you can rest more comfortably." 

Slumped heavily over the saddle, Merlin showed no indication that he'd heard the words. His condition hadn't changed since he'd briefly rallied in an attempt to persuade Arthur to allow him to stay – he wasn't unconscious, exactly, but he didn't seem to be aware of his surroundings either. It was jarring to look into those blue eyes, flat, cold, and unseeing, devoid of their usual sparkle. No matter how much Lancelot tried to hope for the best, it was becoming increasingly difficult not to fear the worst.

Weary from a long day of riding, he finally found a decent place to stop just as night was settling over the landscape. Pulling Merlin down from the horse, he tried to ignore how frail his friend felt beneath his touch, nearly weightless in his arms as he lowered him onto a patch of soft grass beside a placid stream. Cold, so cold... he removed his cloak and draped it over his shivering body, hating that it was the only source of warmth he had to offer.

They couldn't stay here for long, unprotected from the terrors that were soon to come upon them. There had to be another solution close at hand – a cave, an abandoned cottage, perhaps even an inhabited one where the occupants might be persuaded to give them shelter. Just a brief rest, and...

* * *

It was miraculous even to Lancelot, who fully believed in the benevolent forces of magic in the world. They'd risen from the water itself, gentle, feminine faces promising safety, healing, a welcome respite from the endless horrors the kingdom had been forced to live with since the veil had been sundered in two. 

Merlin breathed more easily as their golden light passed over him, his skin a touch less frigid as the warm mist chased away the chill of the late autumn night. But their gifts were not only bestowed upon the fallen sorcerer; Lancelot felt their presence in his mind as he drifted off to sleep, replacing his anxiety with thoughts of security, peace, and comfort. Perhaps it was only an illusion, but he clung to it fiercely nonetheless, needing to believe for a fleeting moment that all would be well.

He slept soundly that night, the first truly restful slumber he'd had since the Dorocha had rained death and destruction upon the defenseless kingdom while providing no plausible solution for their defeat. Morning brought a feeling of refreshment when his eyes first opened, though that was immediately replaced by alarm upon discovering that the place beside him was empty.

"Merlin!" 

But then he spotted him, the man who could've passed for a living corpse only a few hours before. Merlin was fishing... _fishing_ , of all things, then rushing over to him with bright eyes and a cheeky grin as he offered breakfast. Some things defied explanation; there was only room for complete and utter gratitude for yet another salvation through a type of power Lancelot would never understand.

Not that he needed to, of course. All that mattered was that his friend was fully recovered, and with that, all hope had been restored.

* * *

Gwen had never trusted Agravaine, having found his random appearance and immediate involvement in the running of the kingdom more than a little suspect. Up until the previous night, however, she'd tried to ignore her feelings, pushing away her annoyance at Arthur's unfailing tendency to put his faith in family members who'd done nothing to prove they deserved such loyalty. It wasn't her place to speak out on the matter, after all, not when it was Agravaine rather than herself who'd been elevated to the role of trusted advisor. 

But when he'd ordered the gates closed, a vile act that went against everything Arthur had always stood for, there'd been no choice but to protest on behalf of all the refugees who were dependent upon their sovereign for protection. She'd pressed her point quite vehemently, refusing to surrender until the sour faced man had capitulated with a wan smile.

It was a hollow victory at best, however; any sense of triumph was quickly overruled by the emotional chaos that had become a constant reality in her world.

The strongest feeling all was fear. Not only did she have to contend with the nightly terrors brought on by the Dorocha, but her worry for the group of men who'd ridden out in an effort to stop them was almost paralyzing. She couldn't regret the lack of sleep following endless nights of frozen bodies and petrified screams; even if the city had been as peaceful as a summer lake, she still wouldn't have been able to rest with the knowledge of what she'd done.

There was no avoiding the truth – her intentions in asking Lancelot to look after Arthur might have been innocent, but the promise she'd inadvertently extracted was one of life or death, a vow that might easily result in a devastating loss she might never recover from. What on earth had possessed her to ask such a thing of _Lancelot_ , of all people? Yes, she'd imagined he might be able to talk sense into Arthur and keep him from doing anything rash... but she'd been a fool not to recognize the possible consequences if he happened to fail in that endeavor.

And so she didn't sleep at all, not even during the day when the ailing king managed a few hours of fairly peaceful rest in between his fitful demands concerning his son's whereabouts. She paced the floors instead, occasionally rubbing her gritty eyes as she bargained with the universe for the safety of her absent loved ones.

_Let them both return unharmed, and I swear I'll seek Lancelot out and apologize for my thoughtlessness. Bring him back alive and I'll make it right somehow. Just let him live... let them all live, and bring this nightmare to an end. Please, I'll do anything._

Of course, the only response was a heavy, pervasive silence.

* * *

The tiny cabin was an unexpected blessing after so many miles of unbroken wilderness, though it had been with a great deal of grief that Lancelot and Merlin had commandeered it from its former owner. Another victim... how many more would be lost before it was over? How much more guilt would they each have to swallow before finally coming up with the solution that an entire kingdom was depending on them to find? 

So much senseless loss, when Camelot had barely recovered from the devastating assault of Morgana and her immortal army the year before. Would they ever know peace, happiness, a time when there wasn't another dire threat just waiting around the corner?

But for the moment, there was food and plenty of firewood, along with several bottles of surprisingly good wine to provide solace as the men waited out the night together. Merlin was back to his old self, if a little more somber than usual, and a deep sense of companionship filled the lonely hovel as the hour grew later and the warmth of alcohol spread through their bones.

"You don't have to continue on this journey with me, you know," Merlin said softly.

Lancelot chuckled, amused by the futility of each trying to encourage the other to choose the safer route. It was a familiar dynamic in their friendship, comforting simply by virtue of how predictable it was. If he closed his eyes, he could almost believe they were back home, with nothing more to worry about than a wretched hangover in the morning. How tempting it was to forget the far more dismal reality they'd be facing on the morrow, and no doubt for days to come.

But imbued with the inevitable earnestness that came with too much drink, the other man wouldn't allow him to brush the future off so easily. "Why? Because you're a knight, you feel honor bound?"

"You wouldn't understand," he responded with a resigned sigh. "It doesn't make any sense to me either."

"Gwen?"

And there it was, the topic he'd been desperately trying to avoid since they'd set forth from Camelot. He hadn't wanted to acknowledge how much it had hurt him to make that promise. Not the possibility of sacrificing his life for her, of course, but having been _asked_ to do it, to know she found him expendable where others were not? It wasn't even logical to think that way, when she probably hadn't known how dangerous this mission would be. But that didn't stop him from feeling worthless, as if his life meant nothing to her. 

In the end, it didn't matter... forever willing to give her anything she might have asked of him, the words had fallen from his lips without a second thought. And once they'd been spoken, there was nothing left to do but honor them.

"I made her a vow I would keep Arthur safe."

"You don't have to worry. I'll keep him safe."

And that was true; it was impossible to imagine Arthur coming to harm while under Merlin's careful vigilance… a man with powers beyond anything Lancelot could possibly comprehend. But even that wasn't enough... not to make him forsake his own promise.

"I made a vow, Merlin," he repeated quietly.

"Do you still think about her?"

"No," he lied, ignoring the skeptical look he received in response. "Arthur's... a better man than me."

Strangely enough, that belief was the only solace he had anymore. When his hopes had been destroyed, he'd reverted back to the reasoning behind his heartbreaking choice to leave her, convinced at the time that she'd be better off with another man. Did he really feel that way anymore? It didn't matter; she was beyond his reach now... far easier to convince himself that everything had worked out for the best rather than owning up to the devastating truth of losing her through his own foolishness. 

Yes… only in believing it was beyond him somehow, that perhaps her relationship with Arthur had even been predestined all along, could he find some small measure of comfort. 

"I'm sorry."

That was another blow to whatever self worth he still had left. Even his closest friend seemed to agree that Arthur was the preferable choice, saying nothing to deny the words he'd uttered. Gwen, Merlin, his own self-defeating source of comfort... it was too much.

"Why?" he responded a little bitterly. "He loves her and... she's happy."

Merlin hesitated. "You did the right thing, you know. Giving her up, I mean."

Normally, Lancelot might've grunted in agreement and changed the topic. On this night, however, he was frightened, beaten down, and more than a little intoxicated, so weary of keeping his feelings to himself. So many secrets, so many lies... and all for what? 

Fixing Merlin with a meaningful look, he offered something his manners rarely allowed – blunt honesty. "Did I? Sometimes I'm not so certain of that."

"Of course you did. She's meant to be queen. And Arthur... he needs her."

"If that's true, then why is she still a servant? Why has she been edged out of any place of importance in his councils?"

And that was another resentment, one he rarely allowed himself to acknowledge. For the chance to become queen, to enjoy the security and influence she would've received in ascending to such a position, he could've reconciled himself to the reality of giving her up. But to see her continue on as a servant, relegated to playing nursemaid to a broken old man? Even Lancelot could've given her a better life than that.

"It just isn't the right time yet. It'll happen someday, we just have to be patient. Arthur will follow through when he's ready."

"And will that be before or after he's ready to accept your magic?" Lancelot winced, immediately ashamed of the low blow. "I'm sorry, Merlin. I didn't mean to..."

The pain on the other man's face was like a punch to the gut for the briefest instant, before his features smoothed out into an unreadable mask. "It's all right," he said quietly. "I know how it must seem sometimes, but Arthur... he's had a lot to learn. He still does. But I have faith in him, no matter what he might do to disappoint me sometimes. I have to believe…"

“Why?”

“Because...” Merlin hesitated, but Lancelot wasn’t the only one moved to honesty by the wine they’d been sharing. “Because otherwise I’d have nothing left.”

Some of Lancelot’s resentment drained away in response to the hopeless expression on his friend’s face. “Merlin...” he said quietly, leaning forward in his chair. “The way he treats you...”

“It’s nothing,” Merlin interrupted hastily, the mask falling into place again. “It won't always be like this. He just needs more time to… to grow up and let go of his father's teachings. And with Gwen at his side... she’ll make him see. I know she will. She makes him better.”

Part of him didn't want to ask, but he had to know. "How?"

"She questions his judgment, encourages him to do the right thing. When he's with Gwen, she brings out the best in him."

"And what does he do for her?"

 _Tell me, Merlin,_ he thought to himself, suddenly desperate for _some_ indication that Arthur really was the better choice. How could he reconcile himself to the loss of her without somehow believing she was better off that way? What had seemed like an undeniable truth all those years ago now felt very much like the opposite, no matter how much he tried to cling to his illusions. _Convince me I was right to walk away._

"I... he loves her," Merlin stammered. "He stands up for her when it comes down to it, and is willing to risk everything when she or someone she cares about is in danger."

Lancelot swallowed hard. _Nothing I wouldn't have done._ Out loud, he said, "What else?"

"He listens to her, takes her advice. He's kind to her. Why are you asking me this, Lancelot?"

There was no choice but to back off, for to persist would be to acknowledge the truth – that for all Merlin's conviction, there seemed to be something lacking in the relationship he'd once envisioned as the key to Gwen's happiness, the opportunity for which he'd sacrificed the only woman he'd ever truly wanted. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it was there... accompanied by the bitter realization that for the most part, there was nothing she received from Arthur that Lancelot couldn't have provided himself. 

Regardless, there was nothing he could do about it now except swallow an onslaught of regret, washing it down with the last of the wine.

Tomorrow, he'd be able to return to the illusion that Arthur really was the better man. That was a matter of survival, necessary if he ever hoped to make peace with the past. But just for tonight, there was no avoiding what lay behind the numerous lies he'd learned to live with since returning to Camelot. The truth was that he'd made a terrible mistake by walking away, condemning them both to a lifetime of never knowing what might have been. 

_No, you have to let it go. There's no changing it now, just... let it be._

"Forgive me, Merlin. It was only idle curiosity. I'm afraid I've had too much to drink."

Obviously relieved to be given an escape, the other man responded with a small grin. "We both have. Maybe we should try to get a little sleep."

"That sounds like a good idea."


	79. Before the Dawn

#  **Chapter 79: Before the Dawn**

* * *

Gaius insisted that Gwen remain in his chamber following the mysterious attack, claiming it was best she stay in bed for at least a few hours. She was forced to agree – even after the cold compresses he'd applied and the herbs he'd made her swallow, her head still throbbed so violently it was hard to think straight. 

What a welcome relief it would be to surrender to the weariness that had plagued her for days, shutting out the ever present fear and constant anxiety she'd been forced to live with since the Dorocha had turned her life upside down.

But she wasn't to be so lucky. Fearing a concussion, Gaius had dosed her with a mild stimulant to ensure she remained awake until the danger had passed. And so as he departed to tend to the fresh onslaught of frozen bodies that were piling up in the midst of another night of terror, she was left with nothing to do but dwell on something she would've rather avoided at all costs.

Someone wanted her dead.

That was obvious enough, but it didn't even begin to shed light on who the assassin might have been or their possible motivation in attacking her. As the long hours passed, however, her thoughts kept returning to Agravaine. Part of her wanted to believe that his motivation had been sincere when he'd solicited her advice as to how to handle the frightened citizens in the midst of crisis. Unfortunately, flattering words and oily smiles were not enough to make her forget the utter disdain she usually saw in his eyes, nor his disapproval when she'd spoken to the council the night before. No, it wasn't possible that he'd been genuinely interested in her counsel... but then why had he asked for it? To put her at ease, perhaps? To throw her off the scent of whatever he might really be planning?

Well, that was believable enough. Her outspokenness clearly made him uncomfortable... but would that have been enough motivation for him to have plotted her attempted murder?

Gwen sighed, rubbing her feet together beneath the blankets in a vain attempt to suppress the urge to rise and make herself useful, pounding headache or not. As horrible as they might be, the realities she'd been forced to deal with over the previous few days were bearable as long as she remained busy and felt like she was doing something to help – assisting Gaius with the bodies, bringing food and water to the exhausted guards, caring for the king and soothing his anxieties. But just to lay here doing nothing? It was all Gwen could do not to scream aloud in her frustration... not that anyone was likely to hear her if she did, of course, with cries of terror and unearthly wails piercing the night all around them.

How was Uther doing? Was he asleep by now? Or was he sitting up in bed, feverishly muttering to himself the way he'd been doing almost constantly since the Dorocha had invaded the kingdom? Who was caring for him? Agravaine had reassured her he'd be well looked after in her absence, but was there any reason to trust his word?

No.

But beyond her own suspicions, there was no solid reason _not_ to trust him either, so there was nothing she could do but wait... bide her time and hope that by morning, she'd be well enough to see to the king herself. Arthur had entrusted his father's safety to her, not to Agravaine; would he ever be able to forgive her if any harm came to the ailing king?

The door to the chamber opened just then, admitting the old physician who looked as if he'd aged twenty years since she'd seen him only a couple hours before. His bones creaked loudly as he stretched with a pained groan before shuffling over to check on her.

"The swelling has gone down a little," he commented, obviously too tired to bother with token pleasantries before pressing his wrinkled fingers to her forehead. "How does it feel?"

"A bit tender," she admitted truthfully, "but not as bad as it was."

Gaius nodded. "It should be safe enough for you to get a few hours of sleep now. No more than that just yet, but..." he trailed off on a yawn.

"Get some rest, Gaius," she said, keeping her voice soft and gentle so it didn't sound like she was scolding him. "I'll be fine."

"Very well. But you'll wake me if..."

"Of course."

He managed a stern look. "And you'll remain here until morning, at least until I've had the chance to examine you again."

She nodded slightly, then winced when the throbbing inside her skull increased with the motion. There was no need to try and hide it from Gaius, however; he'd already turned away to seek his own bed.

"Gaius?" she called out after a moment. "The king..."

"I'm sure he's fine, Gwen," his sleepy voice came to her through the darkness. "Agravaine has been tending to him personally since you left. I'm sure he'll alert us if there's a problem."

"Of course. Well... goodnight then."

The only response she received was a heavy snore.

* * *

The veil between the worlds couldn't be healed without a sacrifice. Arthur intended to give up his life for that purpose, and Merlin was equally determined to take his place. So much had become clear during that brief encounter with the dragon – Arthur's grim yet steadfast demeanor, Merlin's frantic need to continue on in their journey. 

Up until that moment, Lancelot hadn't been certain what they'd been planning to do upon reaching the Isle of the Blessed. Perhaps it should've been obvious all along, but until it had been confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt, he hadn't wanted to believe the worst.

Well, there was no avoiding it now. Either Merlin or Arthur would never return from this quest if he didn't do something to intervene, and one loss would be no less devastating to the kingdom than the other. As much as Lancelot might question Arthur's harsh treatment of Merlin at times, there was no denying they were two halves of a whole. If either of them fell, Camelot itself would collapse right along with them.

More than that, it was his duty to protect Arthur at all costs, a vow he'd sworn upon his induction into the Knights of Camelot. It would never cross his mind to forsake that oath, nor to allow a beloved friend like Merlin to sacrifice himself in his stead. No, Lancelot already knew there was no choice in the matter, even before the promise he'd made to Gwen came into question. When it did, however, it hit him like a mace to the gut, the full implication in the words they'd exchanged knocking the breath out of him.

She hadn't simply been asking him to watch over Arthur, had she? When she'd stood before him with her beautiful dark eyes full of anxiety, she'd _known_ that one of them would have to die. She'd chosen Lancelot to make that sacrifice... but why? Was it that she knew he'd honor his promise, or because she saw him as the most expendable out of the men, even counting those she barely knew?

 _Try not to think about it,_ he told himself firmly as he and Merlin rode steadily toward their destination. _It doesn't matter now._

What _did_ matter was an ocean of regret for all the things he was on the brink of giving up. He wouldn't be there to see Arthur succeed his father as king, wouldn't witness the moment the ban on magic was lifted and his friend was allowed to walk free at long last. 

Gone was the chance to explain to Gwen exactly why he'd made the difficult decision to leave her, something he'd envisioned doing once she was married and secure in her place as queen. He'd saved that confession for a day when she would've been able to understand his reasoning, imagining she might even be grateful it had all worked out for the best. Someday... when he'd had the chance to grow beyond his own doubts and truly believe she was better off with Arthur. 

Unfortunately, it now seemed he would never find a way to silence the little voice that still whispered that he'd made the biggest mistake of his life that day.

There'd be no more friendly sparring matches with the other knights, no more quiet laughter with Merlin in the physician's chamber after the day was through. He was giving up everything he'd ever known and all that could've been, and the full realization of that was almost more than he could bear. It was one thing to swear a willingness to die for a chosen cause… knowing it to be a certainty and having the time to contemplate everything it meant was ssomething else entirely.

Reuniting with the others bolstered him somewhat, shifting him from the mindset of what he'd be sacrificing to what would be saved in the process. Painful or not, it was the death he would've always wanted for himself – his life purchasing the safety and freedom of those he loved and countless others to boot. It wouldn't be his fantasy of falling on a battlefield with his beloved sword still clutched in bloodied hands, but the result of his sacrifice would be much more important than how the sacrifice was made.

Yes, he could do this. It would be an honor.

The knights slumbered around the fire while Merlin and Arthur conversed quietly; no doubt the former was attempting to push some advantage to ensure the latter's safety on the morrow. Lancelot's eyes stayed open, however, even when prince and servant had finally settled down to rest with the others. No point in sleeping now, even though every muscle in his body burned with exhaustion. Only a few more hours of consciousness before he'd sleep for eternity – why waste even a fraction of his final moments?

As the sky began to lighten, chasing away the nightly terrors, Lancelot ventured beyond the fortress ruins where the others still slept. Soon enough, he found himself gulping in the clean, earthy scent of early morning with a desperation that could only come from a man who knew it was to be the last opportunity he'd ever have to do so. It was a cruel trick of the senses; the air was sweeter than it had ever been, the first golden rays of sunlight more brilliantly beautiful than he could have ever imagined. Even the sound of bird song, merely pleasant under normal circumstances, was so poignantly moving that it made him want to weep.

And weep he did, secluded in a small cluster of trees where he was unlikely to be discovered. He'd meet death with the brave stoicism he'd always relied on in his most frightening moments, of course, but before that...

"Lancelot?"

Hastily, he scrubbed at his eyes and emerged back into the open to answer Gwaine's call.

"You all right?"

Lancelot nodded, forcing what he hoped was a nonchalant smile. "Call of nature."

"Headed that way myself. Sure you're okay? Your eyes look awfully red."

And that was another disappointment... there wouldn't even be an opportunity to tell his friends goodbye, to express how much they'd meant to him or apologize for whatever petty differences they'd had in the past. To do so would be to arouse suspicion, perhaps even run the risk of someone trying to replace him in what he intended to do. He wouldn't put it past Gwaine to charge headlong at certain death in an effort to save a friend – had he ever truly appreciated how selfless the man was underneath it all?

Instead of speaking his heart, however, all he could say was, "I didn't sleep well."

"Not surprising," Gwaine responded with a weary smirk. "I don't think any of us can remember the last time we got a decent rest. Good thing it's almost over... soon enough, there'll be soft beds and plenty of ale for the lot of us."

Lancelot tried not to wince in response to the reminder of a future that would never be his, as the other man stepped past him with a friendly pat on the shoulder.

* * *

Only a short distance remained before reaching the Isle of the Blessed, far too little time to lose himself in memories he desperately wanted to cling to while he still had a chance to do so. It was funny – he'd spent most of his life longing for something he hadn't had for one reason or another. Was it possible to fully appreciate what one had been given while constantly striving for more? Everything had always been a step to the next plateau, not moments that could be isolated and viewed as perfect just as they were.

It was a strange blessing to have nothing left to hope for, knowing there was no point in dwelling upon any number of things he could've done differently or what the future might hold. He could remember it all in a pure sense, particularly that blissful night in the forest with Gwen. To remember the sweetness of her lips, the soft warmth of her body... to have that without any need to dwell upon the sorrow that had followed?

No, it didn't matter when it began or how it had ended; nothing changed the fact that there'd been a time in his life when the only thing he'd ever truly wanted had been his, fully and without reservation. How many men could say the same?

All his dreams had come true in one way or another, even if it hadn't been exactly in the way he'd expected or hoped for. He'd known what it was to love and be loved in return, had redeemed himself from past failures and become a knight in the end, and had fulfilled his long cherished wish of returning to Camelot someday.

In truth, he'd been a lucky man.

By the time they'd made their way inside the decrepit hall, all Lancelot felt was an overwhelming feeling of acceptance concerning his fate, along with gratitude for each and every one of the people who'd made his life worth living. Giving up the rest of it in an effort to give them the gift of a future...? 

That wasn't a sacrifice, it was a privilege.

He barely heard the confrontation between Merlin and the Cailleach, nor did he register what happened as the other two men were rendered unconscious. Even the gaping black chasm, emitting blasts of frigid air and the sound of distant screams, had no effect on his resolve. He was blinded to them all, his consciousness filled with a thousand visions of laughing faces and friendly smiles, his body protected from the chill by countless recollections of companionable pats on the back and friendly embraces. 

And then she rose to eclipse everything else as he stepped forward, smiling gently with her dark curls spilling around her shoulders. "Thank you," she whispered in his mind as he approached the veil, and there was no room for hesitation. For her life alone, even to guarantee her relief at seeing her loved ones again, he'd do this willingly, thankful that in this final moment, he'd proven himself to be truly worthy of her.

But his life was not destined to end upon thoughts of Gwen; it was Merlin's tearful blue eyes that stared at him in horror, countless memories of their friendship assaulting him as he gave a tiny nod, then turned to greet his impending death with open arms.

And it was Merlin's anguished scream that trailed off into silence as the world faded to black, following him into a place where he knew no more.


	80. Balance in All Things

#  **Chapter 80: Balance in All Things**

* * *

Lancelot came back to consciousness with a soft groan, struggling to orient himself with his surroundings. This couldn't be death... no, not unless passing through the veil meant ending up right back where he'd started with a lump on his head and a sore backside. Pushing himself up on his elbows, he glanced around, immediately frozen by the cold, sorrowful eyes of the Cailleach.

Was it his imagination, or was she actually _smirking_ at him? 

"Such noble men you are," she said, her voice soft and scathing. "Fighting like a pack of hounds for the last thing any mortal man should be foolish enough to want for himself. I've half a mind to give it to you just to prove my point, but alas, destiny will not be thwarted. Your life is not meant to come to an end this day, young knight, any more than it is for the friends who surround you."

" _The tear must be healed!_ " Merlin shouted, stepping toward the gaping chasm once more. But then he stopped abruptly, as if some invisible barrier had been erected to prevent his progress. "The balance of the world has to be restored before it's _too late!_ "

"And so it will be," the Cailleach responded calmly, "but do not think the considerable powers you possess mean you have all the answers, Emrys. There are lives hanging in the balance that you do not consider, fates that were determined before you drew your first breath. The day of reckoning has come at last, the time for one man who has severely upset the balance of your world to finally pay the price for all the harm he has inflicted. Be satisfied with that, and interfere no more."

"But..."

But her ancient eyes were already looking beyond him, calling attention to the sound of slow, shuffling footsteps in the distance. Lancelot followed her gaze, gasping in shock upon recognizing the familiar figure of Uther Pendragon. He looked just as he had following Morgana's betrayal, aged and broken in a pale mockery of his previously commanding presence. And yet there was something different about him as he came closer; it was impossible to miss the steely determination in his eyes.

"Step forward, King of Camelot."

Uther moved through the hall, seeming to pick up momentum as he approached the Cailleach. When he reached her, he bowed his head slightly and waited.

"Your sins are beyond counting, the atrocities you have inflicted deplorable in their ruthlessness. Because of your need for vengeance, your hatred and petty spite, the population of magic users in your world has been winnowed down to a mere fraction of what it once was. You have paid the price in one way, condemning your daughter to continue your legacy of bitterness and cruelty. But it is not enough. To restore the balance you have stolen, to allow those with the gift of magic to flourish once more, yours is the life that must be given in trade. Do you understand?"

"There must be another way," Merlin protested weakly, even as Uther gave a curt nod.

The Cailleach turned to him with eyes that were like chips of ice. "I would think that you of all people would understand the reasons behind this outcome, perhaps even welcome the demise of one who can only be considered your mortal enemy. Or do you enjoy living in secrecy and fear, perhaps find some perverse pleasure in the threat of an axe hanging over your head?"

Merlin glared at her. "This isn't about me. It's about Arthur, and he..."

"No, it isn't about you," she responded softly. "This is about the lives and freedom of your people, an end to decades of turmoil that will never come to pass as long as Uther draws breath. You seek to save this man for Arthur's sake? That is your folly. It is time to cut away the strangling vines to allow your future king to grow into the leader he was always meant to be."

"You're wrong," Merlin argued, his blue eyes flashing with fury. "It doesn't have to..."

"Silence, boy," Uther suddenly snarled, his voice displaying none of the frailty others had often commented on over the past year. No, standing before them was a fleeting vision of the king in his prime, cowing even the most courageous protester with a single command. "This is beyond you, sorcerer or not. You were charged with the task of looking after my son; I suggest you focus on that and put me from your mind. You won't change this, nor would I want you to try."

It was to Merlin's credit that he found the nerve to open his mouth again. "I don't understand. You _hate_ magic. Why would you _willingly...?_ "

Uther shot him a measured look. "I have spent the past year tormented by the price others have paid for my... enthusiasm in trying to rid the world of your kind. Make no mistake – sorcery is a vile thing, a corruption that has touched the hearts of many and will poison countless more in the future. I go to my death believing that. But my... my daughter... I do not believe she was destined to commit such acts of treachery, or that her betrayal was caused by anything other than my numerous failures on her behalf. It's too late for Morgana now, but..."

"Sire..."

"But hope still lives on in my son, as long as he might yet survive to redeem the Pendragon legacy. That legacy is more important than anything else in this world, do you hear me? _Arthur must survive_ , and you are to remain at his side and protect him as you've done in the past. He faces a powerful enemy now, one who will never be conquered with swords and arrows. You must... you have to..."

"But I have magic," Merlin said, the words coming out upon a huge sigh of relief after being withheld for so many years. "Surely you wouldn't want Arthur..."

"Do you think me a fool?" Uther snapped impatiently. "My son encounters mortal peril again and again, and always returns unscathed with you at his side. I ceased to believe this was a coincidence quite some time ago, no matter how often I tried to dismiss you as worthless. You've been protecting him all along, have you not? And you've been using magic to do so at great risk to your own safety."

"I... yes."

The king nodded. "If I am to put my faith in any... sorcerer, it seems you are the only logical choice in light of what you've already done on his behalf. So I say to you now – protect him. Advise him. Do whatever you must to ensure he is kept safe so he might be able to fulfill his destiny. If you do not, if you fail him or think to harm him in any way, let it be known that even death itself won't stand in the way of my vengeance. Do I make myself clear?"

"Y-yes, sire. Of course."

"And tell Arthur... tell him that my sacrifice is my final gift to him. He must not know my reasoning beyond that, however, how I came to be here or why I've been chosen to die in his stead. To make him aware that magic itself demands my life as compensation runs the risk of turning him against it forever. You must not allow that to happen."

"But don't... don't you want him to feel that way?" Merlin looked bewildered.

Uther's stoic expression turned wistful for a moment. "Indeed, I wish for nothing more. But it's a futile dream – there's no way he'll ever be able to hold the kingdom without accepting the assistance of sorcery to do so. This is the fate my actions have condemned him to, and despite my hatred for your kind, I can't knowingly doom my son to failure or risk the destruction of our legacy..."

He trailed off into silence as the Cailleach loudly cleared her throat. "I hate to interrupt such a heartwarming moment, but night will be falling soon. It is time."

Slowly, the aging king bent down beside his unconscious son, reaching out a trembling hand to touch his cheek. "Arthur. I wish... well, it doesn't matter now. Goodbye, my son."

And without another word, he rose to his feet and stepped forward into the yawning void, which closed behind him with what Lancelot could have sworn was a whisper of relief.

The heavy silence stretched on for several long minutes, before Merlin finally spoke in a shaky voice. "Lancelot?"

"I'm here, Merlin. I'm here."

"That was..." But there were no words to describe it. He hesitated, shook his head, and then spoke again. "I can't believe you almost... are you injured?"

Lancelot winced as he pushed himself to his feet. "A little bruised is all. Nothing to concern yourself over. How about the others?"

Having regained the ability to move freely, Merlin hurried over to check on Arthur and Gwaine. "I think they'll be out for a while yet, but they'll be okay. I just don't... what am I going to tell him, Lancelot?"

"I don't know. How did he even get here? How did he know to come? That is what I can't understand. I thought he was sick, hardly able to leave his chambers, much less..."

"Much less cross leagues upon leagues of dangerous territory in order to reach the Isle of the Blessed?" Merlin finished for him. "It makes no sense, does it?"

Lancelot started to say something else, interrupted as Leon, Percival, and Elyan entered the hall. They each wore the same bewildered expression as they moved cautiously forward to join their companions, as if they had no idea where they were or how they'd gotten there.

"What happened to you?" Merlin asked them curiously.

"We don't exactly know," Leon responded, his forehead scrunched up in a frown of concentration. "One minute we were fighting those wyvern things, and the next..."

"They just disappeared," Elyan continued. "Strangest thing I've ever seen. Just turned around and left like they'd been summoned or something, and then a heavy mist fell over everything. All of a sudden, all any of us had the strength to do was lie down and take a nap. It's impossible to say how long we slept, but when we woke up, the mist was gone. I tell you Merlin, I don't like this place. It's unnatural."

Percival grunted in agreement, before turning his eyes to the two figures still lying on the ground. "What about all of you? Are they...?"

"They're all right," Lancelot said softly. "I... we..."

"The veil has been healed," Merlin interrupted in a firm voice. "It's done now; we can all go home."

Leon cast his eyes around the decrepit hall. "No more Dorocha? But how can you be sure? How did you...?"

"I'd rather not say anything more until I've talked with Arthur. For now, it's almost nightfall. Let's make our way back across the lake and set up camp. I don't know about the rest of you, but I could use a warm fire and a hot meal. We don't have many supplies left, but there should be enough to hold us over until morning."

The men all nodded their agreement, following Merlin's orders without protest as they gathered their fallen companions and hurried to the boats. Arthur and Gwaine both regained consciousness as they were crossing the water, muttering groggy questions that were met with no response other than, "Let's make camp and we'll explain everything."

* * *

Nestled in a thickly wooded vale that was protected from the worst of the late autumn winds, the knights huddled around the fire as Merlin led Arthur away to speak with him privately. As it turned out, it was pointless for them to separate from the others – Arthur's voice rang out across the short distance, full of bewildered outrage.

"My _father?!_ Merlin, of all the ridiculous things you've ever said to me..."

The response was too muffled to make out.

"But that's _absurd!_ He king wasn't even well enough to leave his chambers! How can you expect me to believe... is this your idea of a joke? How dare you...?"

"Arthur..." Merlin raised his voice in an effort to be heard over the furious ranting. "I know it seems impossible, but I saw it with my own eyes. I'm sorry, I know it's hard to accept, but..."

"Why are you doing this, Merlin?"

"I'm only trying to tell you the truth. Look, if you won't believe me, then maybe you'll listen to Lancelot. He saw everything that I did."

" _Lancelot!_ " Arthur bellowed. "Get over here!"

* * *

"He still doesn't believe it, does he?" Lancelot murmured quietly to Merlin later that night, after the others had fallen into an exhausted sleep.

"Not completely. I guess we can't blame him for that – I saw it happen and it still doesn't seem real. At least he stopped yelling though. I think that's the best we can hope for until we get back to Camelot and he sees that Uther isn't there. He'll have to accept it then, won't he?"

"And you, Merlin? How do you feel about it?"

"I... I don't know. There's a lot of relief, as ashamed as I am to admit it. I know what the Cailleach said was right; it only makes sense that something good should come from a life that was used to inflict so much suffering on others. But I hate to think of how much it's going to hurt Arthur."

"He'll be all right. You know that, don't you?"

"I guess so," Merlin said uncertainly.

"He will. With you and all the knights and... Gwen behind him, he'll get through this. After all, he's been king in everything but name for a year now. I know it will be hard, but in truth, he's been preparing for this for a long time. This is not quite the drastic change it could've been."

"I know. I just... I never thought I'd see the day when _Uther_ would be ordering me to use magic to protect his son. He's always been so..."

"Stubborn?" Lancelot offered. "Unyielding? Blinded by his own prejudice?"

Merlin nodded.

"Perhaps, but I suppose he was still human underneath it all. What happened to Morgana broke him beyond all imagining. I can see where he might grasp at whatever it might take to protect Arthur, the only one of his children he could still hope to save somehow. Seeing what Morgana was capable of must have frightened him a great deal, enough to open his eyes to possibilities he might not have considered otherwise."

"I'm glad it was him and not you," Merlin said softly, shifting into a sitting position. "I still can't believe you almost... you shouldn't have... why did you do it?"

"Why do you think?"

"Because of Gwen?"

Lancelot closed his eyes and sighed. "Yes, in part. But it was more than that. Could you have just stood aside as one of your friends made that sacrifice? No, of course not. That's why you fought so hard to continue on this journey. You were ready to die in Arthur's place if necessary, while I was willing to give my life to save yours."

"Still, you shouldn't have..."

"We are who we are, Merlin. There's no changing that."

* * *

It was a couple hours before dawn when Lancelot awoke from a light slumber to see Merlin slipping away between the trees. Without further thought, he rose and followed; the other man jumped in surprise when he came up behind him, then nodded his acceptance before continuing on in the direction of the placid lake in the distance.

Lancelot didn't have to question where they were going or why, nor did it surprise him when his friend opened his mouth and uttered the strange words that had saved both of their lives just a couple nights before. It was uncanny the way he'd been able to sense Merlin's intention to communicate with the dragon, stranger still the way his own body seemed to be attuned to the creature as it landed in front of them with a brief nod of acknowledgment.

"Did you know?" Merlin blurted out without preamble. "Did you know it was going to be Uther?"

The dragon hesitated for a moment before responding. "Of course I did. I was the one who brought him."

"That's impossible!"

"Young warlock, for all your progress, there are many things you have yet to learn. Nothing is impossible in this world – least of all something that was fated since before you were born."

Merlin stared up at him with his mouth agape. "So you... you're telling me that Uther... that he _willingly_... that's absurd!"

"The man who walked into that veil was not the one you remember. Remorse and regret are powerful indeed, strong enough to triumph over a lifetime wasted on treachery and blind hatred."

"He never stopped hating magic."

The dragon chuckled. "No, I suppose not. Uther could be faulted for many things, but a lack of conviction was never one of them. Nonetheless, he had a debt to repay, a bargain he unknowingly entered into on the day he chose to wage war on our kin. Balance in all things, Merlin. A life for a life, or in this case, one life for many. Not even a man as stubborn as Uther could have avoided his destiny."

"But... what I mean is, how did it happen? How did you find him? Why did he allow you to bring him to the Isle of the Blessed? It doesn't make any sense."

"He found me, Merlin. Perhaps I encouraged him a little in that endeavor, but in the end, he knew what he had to do and how to do it. He's been waiting for such an opportunity for quite some time."

"I... _how?_ "

"What do you think Uther has been doing for the past year, alone in his chambers with nothing to do but brood?"

"He's been ill."

"In a sense, perhaps. It is not easy for a man like him to live with the full knowledge of what he's done and how much it has harmed the very people he believed himself to be protecting. It must have become clear at some point that he could only redeem himself through some kind of sacrifice. He was simply waiting for the right opportunity to do so."

"Why did you let him do it? Knowing how much it would hurt Arthur, how could you let him...?"

The dragon laughed uproariously, displaying a rather alarming collection of long, sharp teeth. "Have you heard nothing I've said, Merlin? Besides, the suggestion that I'd have any reason to prevent Uther Pendragon of all people from harming himself is ludicrous. If I'd had it my way, he would've been dead years ago, struck down by the most gruesome affliction you can possibly imagine. A slow poison, perhaps, or a curse that devoured his body one fraction of an inch at a time. Or maybe upon the pyre, screaming in agony just like countless others he's condemned to such a miserable fate. Yes, to have seen him go up in flames, soiling himself and crying out for mercy..."

"All right!" Merlin said hastily, obviously disturbed by the fanatical light in the dragon's eyes. It was only Lancelot's faith in his friend's conviction that the massive creature could be trusted that kept him from reaching for his sword.

Instead, he found himself voicing a question of his own. "The other night, I thought..."

"Yes, Sir Lancelot?" the dragon prompted, turning its huge yellow eyes in his direction.

"What you said... I thought... well, I thought you were suggesting it was me who should make the sacrifice."

"Of course you did. Like all men, you hear what you want to hear, not what is actually being said. It is obvious you find a great deal of honor in attempting to control the fates of those around you, usually through whatever sacrifice seems appropriate at the time. But it is not as easy as that, as I have no doubt you'll come to learn someday. Sometimes the strongest show of bravery is learning to make peace with your own imperfections, your failings and blunders, and to carry on nonetheless."

"I don't understand."

"No," the dragon agreed. "It is a lesson for you both, an uncanny similarity you happen to share. That much was made abundantly clear by your mutual eagerness to make a sacrifice that was never intended for either of you."

"It's my destiny to protect Arthur," Merlin interjected, sounding more than a little resentful. "You're the one who told me that. Was I just supposed to...?"

"It is indeed. But you must let yourself be ruled by logic rather than emotion. Already, you have made several potentially devastating choices, sheltering Arthur from immediate pain with the result of setting him up for a far more perilous future. Morgana, Mordred... and then you question my part in Uther's death, even though neither you or Arthur would have been able to fulfill your destinies as long as he remained alive?"

"But…"

"Indeed, it is your destiny to protect Arthur, but you can't shelter him from everything. How is he to grow into this great king, wise and just, if you refuse to allow him to face the things he must go through in order to learn those qualities? He's a man now, and will be crowned king upon your return – you're swiftly growing beyond the time where you can allow him to remain in ignorance without causing an incomprehensible amount of damage in the process."

"Are you suggesting I tell him about my magic?" Merlin said with a great deal of uncertainty in his voice. "He's not ready!"

"And what exactly must Arthur do in order for you to decide otherwise?"

"I... I don't know."

The dragon nodded sagely. "No, and it is very likely you never will. In the end, you'll just have to rely upon the one thing neither of you seem capable of granting to those around you, no matter how deep your devotion to them might be in every other way."

"What's that?" Lancelot whispered, just as Merlin opened his mouth to speak again.

"Trust."


	81. On the Brink

#  **Chapter 81: On the Brink**

* * *

No unearthly screams rent the night air, nor did the anguished cries of freshly widowed women and orphaned children rise up to tug at Guinevere's battered heartstrings as she gazed out into the tranquil darkness. For the first time in nearly a fortnight, the city of Camelot slumbered peacefully beneath the warm glow of a harvest moon, as if the coming of the dreaded Dorocha had been nothing more than a nightmare that was easily soothed away with a whispered word of comfort in the wee hours before dawn.

She would've liked to cling to that illusion, if only for a little while. Unfortunately, she was only just beginning to discover that the aftermath could be equally as harsh as the crisis itself, if not more so.

She'd spent the previous two weeks with plenty to do at any given moment – helping Gaius with the bodies, tending to the ailing king, comforting those who had lost friends and loved ones in the relentless attacks. And while she'd been racked by guilt, bewildered and overwhelmed by what was happening all around her, the constant activity and ever-present dread of the night to come had provided a buffer between herself and the worst of her emotions.

Now, there was nothing to hold them at bay.

There was no rational explanation as to why she chose to remain where she was. Uther was gone, and there could be no doubt he was dead, even though they'd been unable to recover his body. Why was she here in his chambers, dusting the furniture and turning down the bed he'd never sleep in again?

Because it was normal… something her former self would've done.

But the silence... it ate away at her like some disease of the flesh, not visible to the naked eye and yet threatening to devour her whole. The entire city held a hint of that feeling, the appearance of perfect normalcy on the outside even as it had been deprived and corroded from within. It was far worse here in these chambers though, so heavy and stagnant and wrong that it seemed to suck the air from her lungs.

She should leave, and yet she couldn't... not until Arthur returned to the bitter news that his father was dead. Dead, and that the responsibility rested squarely on Gwen's shoulders.

It didn't matter that she'd been injured, nor that it would've been the height of lunacy to rise too soon after receiving such a brutal blow to the head. The fact remained that Arthur had trusted her to look after the king and she'd failed him, let him down to such a devastating degree that she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to forgive herself.

It wasn't only that Uther had disappeared that was causing her distress. No, it was that deep in her heart, she felt no grief for his loss. Despite all her best intentions, there remained a part of her that felt it was no more than he'd deserved after all the pain he inflicted throughout the course of his lifetime. 

There'd even been a fleeting moment where she'd enjoyed the thought of him stumbling out of the palace, then cowering in terror as the Dorocha swept down from the skies to steal his final breath.

The confusing part was that she didn't hate him... or at least, she'd thought she didn't. She'd spent the past year caring for him with a detached sort of tenderness, forgetting what it was like to resent him in the face of his obvious need. And so the conflicting emotions she'd felt when she'd been informed that he was missing, presumed dead, seemed to have come from out of nowhere, frightening in their intensity. Did she really still blame him for all the things he'd done?

Yes. Perhaps after all, there were some injuries that could never be put to rights.

But even the understanding that she did have justification for the way she felt wasn't enough for Gwen. For even if she couldn't bring herself to grieve for the fallen king on a personal level, couldn't she do so for Arthur's sake? Arthur was innocent, at least for the most part, and he'd loved his father without reservation. He would be shattered when he arrived home to find him gone. Why wasn't that foremost in her mind, rather than her own mixed feelings? How could she be supportive of him and yet be secretly relieved over the former king's death? Worse, would it be written all over her face, the first thing he saw when he returned?

 _If_ he returned.

That was the other source of Gwen's emotional upheaval. It would be several days yet before Camelot could expect the appearance of its rescuers, if any of them had even managed to survive the journey to the Isle of the Blessed. It was obvious they'd succeeded in their mission, but at what cost? At least one of them had been forced to give up his life – there was no avoiding that unfortunate truth. Who had it been? And how many more had followed in his footsteps?

The only thing worse than the thought of the numerous apologies she owed was the realization that she might not ever have the opportunity to speak them aloud. Arthur, Lancelot, even her own brother, who she'd barely said goodbye to in the midst of all the distraction just a few days before. 

A few days? 

It felt like years since she'd seen any of their faces – as if they'd been part of some distant dream half forgotten upon awakening... opening her eyes to a strange new world that somehow looked familiar, and yet was as foreign to her as climbing from her bed to find herself on the moon. The palace might appear to be the same, right down to the scent of fresh rushes in the air and the tapestries on the walls, but Camelot wasn't Camelot without them... all of them.

"Please," she whispered, not stirring from what was to become a constant vigil at the window for the next three days. "Please, just bring them home."

* * *

It was all Lancelot could do to remain upright in his saddle as the hour crept well past midnight. Arthur had pressed hard for home, insisting they ride on through the darkness rather than setting up camp and continuing on in the morning.

None of the men objected, however, knowing it was more than a simple wish to get back to his subjects that had Arthur riding as if demons were at his heels. No, his seemingly impassive expression, the tension in his shoulders and grim set of his mouth suggested something deeper, more painful... a grief he wasn't ready to acknowledge and was still determined to outrun somehow.

There were no citizens crowding around to welcome them as they rode through the gates into the city. Whether everyone was simply asleep, or still too wary to leave their homes after dark, the streets of Camelot were as silent as the grave as they made their progression through the lower town, emerging into the palace courtyard.

After dismounting, the knights gathered around Arthur, waiting faithfully for their next instructions. Glancing around at their faces, Lancelot could see they were all as bone weary as he was, and yet they would not fail to obey their leader if he asked any further service of them that night. But there was no disguising five identical expressions of slack-jawed relief when they were simply waved away with a brusque command to get some sleep.

Tomorrow, they'd discover the full extent of the damage that had been done. Tomorrow, they'd find a way to regroup and rebuild, just as they had in the past. Tomorrow, a former king would be honored and a new one would be crowned. And tomorrow, perhaps Lancelot would finally be able to wrap his head around the idea of a future he'd fully believed to be beyond his grasp forever. 

But tonight, there was only the comfort of a warm, soft bed that cradled him like a mother's embrace as he surrendered to the deepest, most restful sleep he'd had in as long as he could remember.

* * *

Arthur was the very picture of composure as he placed the sword and cloak on the funeral pyre. Gwen stood silently at his side, struck by the vague notion that this was the most public recognition he'd given her in months, before pushing it away with a sharp twinge of guilt when he began to speak.

"We gather to pay tribute to our king," he called out to the onlookers, his voice never wavering as his eyes passed over the somber faces before him. "Never has Camelot had a leader who was more strong, more courageous, more imbued with honor and justice than my father. It is to him we can credit decades of peace and prosperity, and it is to him that we owe our very lives. I can only hope..."

But Gwen wasn't listening anymore. Instead, her gaze passed over the people who were listening respectfully to the words of praise. Lancelot and Gwaine, both champions and heroes who'd faced banishment as reward for their unselfish actions on behalf of the kingdom. Elyan, who'd been orphaned by Uther's irrational hatred, just as she had. And Merlin, who could've easily suffered a slow and painful death many times over for no other crime than an accident of birth. 

She wanted to weep for them all, for the facade they'd never fully escape. Even if Arthur proved to be a better king than his father, would he ever be able to see Uther for the tyrant he'd been? More than that, were they doing him any favors by allowing him to labor under the delusion that the former king had been a man who was worthy of the tribute he was receiving now?

Unbidden, a single tear fell from her eye as she looked ahead to what suddenly seemed like an uncertain future. So much suffering caused by a single man – would any of them ever be free from it, even now that he was gone?

"It wasn't your fault," Arthur leaned over to whisper. "But I... I think he would've appreciated how deeply you grieve for him."

 _He wouldn't have given a damn,_ Gwen thought viciously as Arthur gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, then turned away and left her there at the pyre. After they'd spoken at length, he'd kept his vigil the night before, locked away from dusk until dawn, emerging with bloodshot eyes and a haggard expression at the end of it all. But he didn't have the luxury to linger now, not with a coronation to plan for and a kingdom to put to rights.

So much confusion... she'd be lying to say that she hadn't been relieved to discover that he'd already known the truth, that she wouldn't have to be the one to tell him of Uther's disappearance. The mystery surrounding his presence at the Isle of the Blessed remained unsolved; Arthur's theory was that Morgana had somehow transported him there in a vile act of sorcery... a declaration that had been immediately followed by Merlin looking distinctly uncomfortable.

Had Merlin done it? Did he even have that kind of power? And could she really blame him if he'd been the culprit?

So many questions, and no answers to be found. Gwen struggled with them all as she stood before the bier of the last man she'd ever be able to bring herself to weep for, tears flowing down her cheeks over what seemed like everything else in the world aside from his death.

She didn't realize how much time had passed, or even that it had begun to drizzle, until a voice spoke softly from behind. Whirling around, she swiped at her eyes as she came face to face with an obviously concerned Lancelot.

"I... I'm sorry," he started awkwardly. "I don't mean to intrude. I just... wanted to make sure you were all right."

Forcing what she hoped was a casual smile, Gwen swallowed the last of her tears and hoped he would mistake the wetness that was already on her face for rain. "I'm fine. Really, I just..."

"It is a difficult loss. I'm sure that taking care of him for so long makes it especially hard to..."

"What?" she said vaguely. And then before she could stop herself, "No, it isn't Uther. I mean, it is, but..."

"What is it then?"

Gwen shook her head, unwilling to admit the truth. Her guilt, her shame, the awful realization that a part of her had simply been too damaged by the former king to even begin to know how to help Arthur through his grief with any sincerity. And then there was the fact that despite her determination to stop thinking that way, a tiny voice inside her head just wouldn't quit insisting, 'He's not worth it, Arthur. He never was. You're better off this way. We all are.'

How could she say that to _Lancelot_ , who was full of good intentions and no ill will? Had he ever even known what it was like to resent someone at this level, to hold them guilty for their crimes and refuse to forgive them even in death?

And so she chose to change the subject instead, even though it wasn't one she found much easier to deal with. "I wanted to speak to you about... that is, I wanted to apologize for what I did. It was wrong, and..."

Lancelot interrupted her with a frown. "What could you possibly have to apologize for?"

"When I asked you to look after Arthur. I didn't mean... I never intended for you to sacrifice yourself in his place. After you'd gone and I realized it might come to that, what I'd done in asking you, I felt terrible. I'm sorry."

"No. You had every right to ask, and I would've done it without a second thought. I would've been honored. Truly, there's nothing to forgive."

She drew a shaky breath, then smiled. Perhaps she could've argued further, could have pointed out all the reasons it had been an awful thing to do, but she'd had enough of feeling guilty and frightened and confused over her every thought and action. After all, despite what had seemed to be impossible odds, the fates had brought her loved ones home safely. Would it be such a crime to rejoice in that, if only for a little while? 

"You're shivering."

"Am I?" she said distractedly.

"Here, take my cloak. Perhaps I should... would you permit me to walk you home? Its growing dark, and the storm is picking up, and..." he trailed off, somehow managing to look completely uncomfortable and positively endearing at the same time.

Gwen knew she should decline. But another side of her, the part that was simply drained in the aftermath of weeks of constant worry, wasn't so eager to reject the comfort of a man who'd always made her feel safe and protected. 

She craved that solace just then, needed it so much that she was willing to throw caution to the wind and accept Lancelot's offer. After all, he was a Knight of Camelot, just like the countless others who'd escorted her down these very same paths throughout the years. That wasn't wrong, was it? 

Of course not.

And could it be wrong to invite him inside since the storm had picked up, battering the city with strong winds and freezing rain by the time they made it to her door? No, there was no other choice but to insist he remain there until the weather improved – it would be cruel to make him walk all the way back to the palace in such terrible conditions.

Was it wrong for him to accept her offer? No… not when the only thing she was offering was a seat at her table and a cup of hot tea with a splash of mead to warm his bones.

In the end, she couldn't have known the truths that would be revealed that night, nor how they'd leave them both forever changed in the aftermath. Then again, would she have done anything different if she'd been able to predict such a thing? And where exactly had the line been drawn between actions that were truly innocent and those she'd simply chosen to justify as such?

That was the real question... one she wouldn't be able to answer for a long time to come.


	82. The Truth Comes Out

#  **Chapter 82: The Truth Comes Out**

* * *

"More?"

Lancelot nodded, pushing his empty cup across the table to be filled with another serving of rich golden mead. "Thank you," he said softly as he raised it to his lips.

He wasn't quite sure when Gwen had given up the pretense of only using the alcohol to flavor their tea, but here they were... alone in her kitchen after sundown, each well on their way to becoming intoxicated. Why was she allowing this to happen? Wasn't she worried they'd be caught by someone who might easily assume the worst? If so, she didn't show it... she just continued sipping at her own drink while carefully avoiding his eyes.

Perhaps she kept drinking for the same reason he did... a simple need to have something to do with her mouth. It gave the appearance that their continued lack of conversation was due to the fact that they were both otherwise occupied, which was certainly more pleasant than admitting that what really lay between them was the awkward silence of two people who didn't have the faintest idea what to say to one another.

"I should be going," he announced, wincing when the unexpected sound of his voice made her jump. "It's getting late, and..."

"Sit down, Lancelot," she said firmly, shaking her head as he rose somewhat unsteadily to his feet. "You'll make yourself sick if you try to walk all the way back to the palace in..." trailing off, she gestured vaguely in the direction of the rain spattered window. "In fact, it would probably be best if you stayed the night."

He looked at her in surprise, then cast a dubious glance at the only bed in the house. Silently cursing himself for the thrill of excitement that ran through him at the thought of her lying there, he gulped down another large mouthful of mead before he trusted himself to speak. "It... it would not be appropriate."

"Why is that?"

It was the last thing he'd expected, hearing her directly address the tension they had carefully avoided for more than a year. And now that she had, well, what could he say? Anything even closely resembling the truth would be nothing less than a betrayal – of her, of Arthur, of the very fabric that had woven itself together to form their current lives. 

How could he possibly bring himself to tell her, 'It would be inappropriate because I still love you? Because even now, I cannot be near you without wanting to take you in my arms and kiss you senseless?'

"Others might be given the wrong impression," he finally said, doing his best to focus all his attention on the ring of condensation that had formed on the table in front of him. "I wouldn't want to compromise your reputation."

She laughed. "My reputation? Lancelot, do you have any idea how many of the knights have slept under this roof? How many times I've spent the night alone with Merlin, or with Arthur, or with whomever was assigned to guard me from danger? Just last month, Gwaine was too drunk to make it home and ended up passing out on my floor. It isn't as if..."

"It's not the same thing," he said quietly. "I... we have a history. Surely you wouldn't want anyone to think..."

"Of course not," she responded, and he was taken aback by the sudden trace of bitterness in her voice. She drained her cup and poured herself another before continuing. "Why should the truth matter? We're supposed to lie and avoid and pretend... whatever it takes for people to see exactly what they want to see and nothing more. Don't you ever get _tired_ of it, Lancelot?"

 _More than you could ever know,_ he thought to himself, even as he said, "I'm not sure what you mean."

Gwen let out a hollow chuckle. "You know exactly what I mean. You're even better at it than I am. Always so well mannered, so courteous, forever putting the feelings of others before your own. Don't you ever wish you could just be honest about what you feel?"

He couldn't trust himself to respond to that.

"I'm glad Uther is dead," she said abruptly, and then looked at him with a strange mixture of shame and defiance in her soft brown eyes. "I'm only sorry that it took this long for it to happen. What do you think about that?"

Lancelot hesitated. "I think you've had too much to drink, and that it isn't right for me to be hearing these things. Probably best to put it from our minds and never speak of it again."

It was the worst thing he could have possibly said; without another word, she burst into tears.

"No," he said hastily, rising to go to her and then stopping when he was halfway around the table. "I didn't mean... please don't... I'm sorry."

She raised her face to his, knocking the breath out of him with the sheer amount of pain he saw in her eyes. "Don't you understand?" she said quietly, with a note of pleading in her voice that nearly broke his heart. "I'm so tired of pretending to be something I'm not. I wish just once, I could be honest and not have the other person ignore the things they'd rather not hear."

"Gwen..."

Swiping at her eyes, she managed a watery smile. "I'm sorry… you're right, I've had too much to drink. Forgive me."

But he knew it was more than that; this was dangerous territory, yet he didn't have it in him to turn his back on her. Not now. "Gwen, what is it you need from me?"

She let out a shuddering sigh. "I don't know."

"Tell me about Uther."

"It's all right, we don't have to..."

"Tell me. Please."

And so he listened as she described the disturbing relationship she'd had with the fallen king over the years. There was so much he'd never known – the fact that the evil bastard had nearly had her executed as a witch on more than one occasion was shocking enough. But her father's murder, something she was still unable to talk about without a great deal of anguish in her voice, was unthinkable. It was no wonder she couldn't bring herself to feel any sorrow over Uther's death; hell, it was remarkable that she wasn't openly rejoicing over it.

By the end of it, he was unable to suppress his reaction any longer, despite how ill-advised it might've been to give voice to the thoughts that were running through his mind.

"And after all that," he said slowly, unable to tear his eyes from hers, "knowing everything you'd suffered at his father's hands, Arthur still asked you to play nursemaid to him? How could he do such a thing?"

She gave a tiny sniff, a vulnerable sound that tugged at his heartstrings. "I'm sure he didn't understand how hard it would be for me."

Lancelot stared at her, aghast. "How could he not?!"

"Arthur means well, but he's not exactly the most perceptive person in the world. I'm not saying he's feebleminded or anything like that, he just chooses to avoid things he finds too difficult to deal with. The truth of how brutal Uther really was is something he's never been able to face."

"That's no excuse!" And for the first time, Lancelot found himself truly angry with the man he'd always served so faithfully. It was far more intense than the frequent unease he felt at the way Merlin was treated; this was nothing less than helpless rage. Arthur wasn't supposed to be woefully insensitive when it came to the people who needed him. For if he was, why had they all sacrificed so much on his behalf? Why had Lancelot walked away from the only woman he'd ever loved, if not to leave her in the hands of someone who'd treat her the way she deserved to be treated? 

"Perhaps not," Gwen agreed. "But I could've refused. Arthur wouldn't have forced me to do it if I'd told him it made me uncomfortable. He's a good man, just..."

"Maybe he shouldn't have had to be told in order to see something so obvious for himself."

She didn't respond, and he found himself desperately casting about for something else to say. "I'm truly sorry for what happened to your father, and to you. I wish I could've been here... that I could've helped somehow..."

"Thank you, but there was nothing you could have done. And anyway, it's over now."

He nodded, and then hesitated for a moment. "Gwen?"

"Yes?"

"I'm not sorry he's dead either."

* * *

She let out a shaky breath as tears sprang to her eyes, realizing she'd just been given exactly what she'd needed... the one thing she'd been deprived of for as long as she could remember. 

Perhaps it was something she'd never truly had at all, forever obligated to shield others from the harsh realities they couldn't bear to face. But Lancelot... bless him, he was the one person who never seemed to expect her to always be the strong one, nor to live under the illusion of what he needed her to be at any given time. She could be weak, far less than perfect, even selfish, and somehow, he always seemed to understand and accept her just as she was. It was something she'd only had a taste of in the past, but now...

She tried not to do it, to dwell upon the future they might have had together, but the temptation was suddenly impossible to resist. How could she help it, with Lancelot gazing back at her with his beautiful eyes so tender and full of compassion?

Whether it was the copious amounts of alcohol she'd consumed, or the incredible relief of being in the presence of the person she'd always found more safe and comforting than any other, she discovered her newfound honesty was the last thing she wanted to stifle. She wanted more... so much more of that glorious truth that so rarely saw the light of day in any other aspect of her life. 

In this moment, sheltered from the rest of the world, she could push away any thought of what was right or wrong, what should be revealed and what should remain forever hidden. It didn't matter now, not when the relief to be found in simple frankness beckoned her forward with open arms.

When she opened her mouth again, she put voice to a question she would've never permitted herself to ask under any other circumstances.

"Lancelot?"

"Hmmm?"

"Do you ever think about what our lives might have been like if things had turned out differently?"

He stiffened, tearing his eyes away from hers to stare intently at the wall. "No."

"I do. Sometimes, I just wish we could have..."

"Gwen..."

"I know what you're thinking." She took a deep breath in the hope of bringing some clarity to her muddled thoughts. "It's too late for it to make any difference. We made our choices, and there's nothing to do but live with them. But don't you ever wonder where we'd be if you hadn't...?"

Lancelot closed his eyes, seeming to deflate right in front of her as he leaned heavily on the table. "It doesn't matter now."

"But it does. Until tonight, you and I have spent most of the last year avoiding one another as much as possible. I don't want it to be that way. No matter what happened in the past, I don't see why we have to pretend as if we're strangers."

"We don't have to be strangers," Lancelot said quietly. "But you know as well as I do that there are some lines that shouldn't be crossed, out of respect for..."

Gwen smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Believe it or not, it's in part for Arthur's sake that I think it would be good to clear up any misunderstandings that might still exist between us. Doesn't it seem like it would be better to move forward knowing the truth? Maybe we could make our peace with it and put it to rest."

There was a strange combination of wariness and hope in Lancelot's gaze. "Make our peace with it? Do you really believe...?"

She nodded. "I do."

"All right."

And though his surrender was an indisputable victory from her perspective, she had no idea how to vocalize the swirling mass of thoughts in her head. In the end, she just blurted out the first question that separated itself from the rest.

"Why did you assume the worst of me without even giving me a chance to explain myself?"

"What?"

"When you left me without saying goodbye. You obviously thought I'd betrayed you with Arthur, but you never asked me whether or not it was true."

Lancelot's eyes grew wide as he leaned forward in his chair. "I didn't... how could you think...?" he trailed off, sputtering in disbelief. "You thought I'd left because I was _angry_ with you? That I was jealous, or..."

Her mouth twisted into a pained grimace. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all, as she was clearly far more affected than she would've expected herself to be after all these years. But it was too late to turn back now. 

"To be fair, I was left with no explanation. What was I supposed to think?"

"I know, and I'm sorry for that. But I didn't do it to hurt you, or to punish you in any way. I only did what I thought was best for you at the time."

Something twisted in her gut, sharp and painful as realization slowly dawned. "You didn't leave me because you thought I'd chosen Arthur over you. _You chose Arthur for me._ That's the truth, isn't it?"

"Yes. I... I had nothing to offer. My hands were empty. And Arthur could give you everything. Wealth and privilege and security, and..."

"Oh, of course," she spat bitterly. "Because I care so much about those things."

"Gwen, I know I made a mistake, but I was only trying to do what was right."

She shot to her feet, wobbling under the effects of the alcohol that was coursing through her bloodstream. "What was right?!" she shrieked, not caring if the entirety of Camelot was able to hear her fury. "How is it _right_ to take away a person's freedom to make their own decisions? To manipulate them into doing what _you_ think is best? How is it honorable to treat someone like a fool who can't be trusted to know their own mind?"

"I never thought you were a fool, Gwen. I was just trying to..."

"Do the right thing," she snapped. "Yes, we've established that. What I want to know is why you didn't think I was capable of figuring that out for myself!"

Lancelot held out his hands in a helpless gesture. "I just didn't want to force you to choose between us, when it was so obvious that I could never be what Arthur was..."

"It wasn't a choice! I loved _you_ , not Arthur! And you just _assumed_... didn't bother to ask what I felt, or what I wanted, or..."

"I know, Gwen, and I'm sorry. Truly, I am. But… well, it did work out for the best in the end. Arthur loves you. You're happy. You'll be queen someday, which is exactly what you deserve. How can I be selfish enough to regret my choice when…?"

She glared at him in furious disbelief. "After all this, you still don't understand. You don't realize that a future with Arthur means giving up just as many things as I'll be gaining... things that are equally important to me, if not more so. You don't see... what you did... you..."

"Gwen, please..."

Sobbing openly, she shoved away the comforting hand he tried to place on her shoulder. "Do you still love me? If I wasn't... would you still want...?"

"I shouldn't…" he said weakly.

" _Just answer the question!_ "

"Yes. My feelings for you will never change."

She turned her back on him with a shuddering sigh. "Well then, it seems you've trapped us both."

"I never meant to..."

"But you did. If you'd honestly decided you didn't want to be with me, then maybe I could have been content with Arthur in the end. But knowing what I do now, everything has changed. It would be foolish to pretend otherwise."

"I shouldn't have told you."

She laughed aloud, a harsh, rasping sound that sounded foreign to her ears. "Don't you get it, Lancelot? It's everything you _didn't_ tell me that created this mess in the first place. I had a _right_ to know... I still do. And no matter how much it hurts, it isn't half as painful as being left to wonder without ever receiving the courtesy of the truth."

"So what happens now?" he questioned tentatively after a few minutes of tense silence. "Do you want me to leave Camelot? I will do so and never return if that is what you wish."

At the end of her rope, Gwen spun on her heel and did the last thing she'd ever have thought herself capable of until that moment. She slapped Lancelot, hard.


	83. No More Illusions

#  **Chapter 83: No More Illusions**

* * *

Gwen squinted her eyes against the piercing sunlight and hurried up the steps, breathing a sigh of relief as she entered the blessedly dim interior of the Citadel. It had taken every ounce of willpower she'd possessed to get out of bed that morning, clutching her pounding head with a tortured groan as she'd discovered that no amount of water could wash away the acrid flavor of ash that lay upon her tongue. 

She couldn't even think about food – just the faint odor of roasting meat wafting up from the palace kitchen was enough to make her stomach churn in revulsion.

It was tempting to take a detour and visit Gaius for a dose of his famous tonic, in the hope that it would make her day a little more bearable. The knights swore by the stuff, despite all their complaining about the terrible taste, and she couldn't recall ever having seen _them_ suffering any ill effects after a night of excessive drinking. 

No… she shook her head, wincing at the renewed throbbing inside her skull as she continued on her way. Admitting she'd gotten drunk was sure to raise eyebrows; it wasn't as if being intoxicated was typical behavior for her. Beyond that, realizing she was looking for any excuse to avoid Arthur made her feel as if she deserved every bit of the discomfort that came along with her wretched hangover.

Arthur… simple, honest, trusting Arthur. What right did she have to dread seeing him, as if _he_ was the one who'd done something wrong? 

When she reached his chamber, however, her timid knocks were met with no response. She lingered there, at a loss for what to do with herself other than wait for his return. For more than a year, she'd had no duties other than caring for the ailing king; did she even have a job anymore? That was a question that needed answering – her meager savings would not be enough to sustain her for long.

"Down at the training grounds."

Gwen spun on her heel, managing a small smile as she came face to face with Gwaine. "Pardon?"

"Arthur," he clarified as he flicked a lock of hair out of his eyes. "He's had us down there since sunrise, drilling and target practice and that sort of thing. Thought he might want to take a little time off, after… well, you know. But I guess not."

"So why aren't you with him now?" she lifted an eyebrow in mock accusation. "Slacking off on the job?"

Gwaine flashed her a mischievous grin. "Oh no, something far more reprehensible than that, I'm afraid. I've come to sweep you off your feet while he's off playing soldiers."

It was no different than a dozen other teasing remarks he'd made, so innocent that he seemed genuinely confused when the only response he received was a hollow eyed stare. He took a step closer, frowning in consternation as he studied her face. "You all right?"

"I… yes. I had a little too much to drink last night, that's all."

If he was surprised by the confession, he didn't show it. He simply nodded, then reached out to pat her shoulder in a gesture of sympathy. "Say no more. Come on."

It didn't occur to Gwen to protest as she followed him through the corridors and allowed him to show her into Gaius's chamber. It wasn't as if she could speak with Arthur at the moment anyway, and she _did_ feel terrible. The physician greeted them warmly, then took one look at her expression and shuffled over to the nearest set of shelves, retrieving a vial filled with a thick, suspicious looking concoction. 

"Drink it all," he instructed her in a stern voice, murmuring a quiet farewell to Gwaine before returning his full attention to her.

She drained the tiny bottle in one swallow, then gave a visible shudder. "That was awful!"

"Not as awful as you were feeling before you drank it, I imagine."

"No," she admitted, pleasantly surprised that a swift shake of her head was no longer met with throbbing pain. "How did you know?"

Gaius let out a chuckle. "I've been a physician for more than sixty years, Gwen. I'd be a poor one indeed if I wasn't able to recognize the most common affliction in the kingdom by now."

"I suppose so." She smiled, then cast about for a change of subject. "Where's Merlin this afternoon?"

"He's down at the training grounds with Arthur. After that, I'm not sure, but he said something about writing a speech? I don't know… he usually doesn't make it back here until well after supper."

"Arthur works him hard," she replied for lack of a better response. It was true though – not for the first time, she had to wonder if Arthur took advantage of his position of authority over Merlin. Even Morgana had allowed Gwen days off and the chance to go home early from time to time... now that she thought about it, she couldn't recall her friend having ever been given the same privilege. 

It was discomforting, to say the least.

She considered several different ways she might broach the subject with Arthur, despite the fact that Gaius didn't seem the least bit perturbed when he responded, "It's good for the boy. Keeps him out of trouble."

"I'm sure you're right."

"It does leave an old man wanting for company though," he said with a smile. "Do you have any place you need to be this afternoon? I was just about to have a bit of stew if you'd like to join me. Are you hungry?"

To Gwen's surprise, she was famished.

* * *

"Come on, Lancelot! You can do better than that!"

Lancelot pushed himself up from the ground and retrieved his fallen weapon, telling himself for the hundredth time that he needed to focus. It was a useless effort, and rather unnerving that he had to struggle to keep his mind on a fight in the first place. No matter what he'd been through in the past, it had _never_ gotten in the way of his ability to tune everything out beyond his opponent.

"You're leaving yourself wide open, Lancelot!" Arthur barked in a frustrated voice. "Get into a defensive stance!"

Halfheartedly, he shifted his weight and brought his sword up to chest level as Percival moved forward for another attack.

He was exhausted. That was part of his problem, a point further emphasized as the impact of a jarring blow he barely managed to deflect ricocheted through his tired, aching muscles. 

Rather than returning to his own quarters the night before, he'd spent hours walking the streets instead. When he'd finally been weary enough to seek his bed, it had been too late – he'd found Gwaine waiting at his door, grumpily informing him that they were expected on the training grounds in twenty minutes.

But it wasn't merely the lack of sleep that had him feeling so disconnected, as if he were watching the sparring match from some great distance. It was the realization that much of what he'd once believed to be true was so obviously, devastatingly wrong, to the point that the very foundation of his existence felt as if it were falling away beneath him. 

In truth, it had been coming on gradually for years. There had been numerous moments where he'd had doubts, times when he found himself questioning the choices he'd made and the motivation behind them. On some level, he'd even acknowledged that his own feelings of inadequacy had had more to do with many of those decisions than what he'd once mistaken for honor or selflessness. 

He was far from being that naive boy who'd ridden away from Camelot all those years before, his entire sense of self-worth wrapped up in foolish dreams of knighthood. And yet…

And yet some shadow of that idealistic young heart had survived through all the trials and degradation, after all his catastrophic mistakes and painful losses. That was the part of him that had never truly acknowledged the enormity of what he'd done when he'd walked away from Gwen. As long as he'd continued to believe on some level that he'd made the right choice, that she really _would_ be happier without him, he'd been able to accept it.

Honor, courage, sacrifice – all his life, Lancelot had valued those qualities above all others, without really accepting one indisputable truth. Without honesty, those virtues counted for nothing. And no matter how hard he might have tried to do the right thing, he'd wasted so many chances by denying the people he loved the one thing they truly needed from him.

Trust.

To trust was to relinquish control. And control was what his life had been about up until this moment – the idea that if he only did the right thing without any thought for his own happiness, the people he loved would be safe. It was a compulsion that went all the way back to his childhood, to that silent vow he'd made after losing his family... he must always be the protector.

How could he have allowed Gwen to gamble her future happiness on a mercenary fighter when there had been a far better alternative in Arthur? How could he have withstood the guilt of watching her walk away from everything he could never give her in exchange for a life filled with uncertainty? It had made so much sense at the time, but now…

Now, he couldn't see it as anything other than a catastrophic mistake.

Others had tried to open his eyes to the truth. There'd even been a tiny voice inside him that had insisted all along that there was nothing honorable about deceiving the people he loved, or in assuming he knew what was best for them, then acting upon it without their consent. But he hadn't listened… not until it had been Gwen herself staring back at him, her eyes full of betrayal as she'd given voice to the realities he'd refused to face. 

It had taken nothing less than that to shatter the last of his illusions.

How had he ever convinced himself that it was _his_ place to decide what she should want… that it was acceptable to manipulate circumstances in an effort to guide her in a direction that suited his needs? _His_ needs, not hers… all because he'd been too afraid to face the chance that she might choose him and come to regret that decision. 

And all along, he'd robbed her of the one thing she'd deserved above all else... more than wealth or security or even the chance to be queen. He'd denied her the simple privilege of knowing the truth.

It was strange to feel relieved upon that realization, considering how much it hurt to face up to what he'd done. But after so many years of questioning his own worth, obsessing over bravery and selflessness and what sacrifices should be made, he finally saw it for what it was – an endless struggle to maintain control to the detriment of himself and others. And that wasn't a battle he was obligated to fight in order to be a good man with a heart full of honor.

But it wasn't that simple, was it?

"You've trapped us both."

No, it wasn't; the consequences of that foolish choice didn't end with the acknowledgment of his folly. They went far beyond being left to wonder what might have been, or having to live with a longing that would forever go unsatisfied. The cruelest part was in the silence… that after so many years of holding his tongue for all the wrong reasons, he was left with no choice but bury his feelings all over again and do the same damn thing.

What else could he do? The truth had come too late; despite the things she'd said the night before, Gwen loved Arthur and would surely marry him someday. 

Gwen… open, honest Gwen, who he couldn't possibly imagine living with a lie as big as the one he carried in his heart. He hoped it had only been the alcohol talking there in her kitchen, because if she _did_ still have feelings for him, he'd condemned her to the same awful fate he was forced to live with himself. 

Secrecy. Shame. Solitude. Forever existing with the knowledge that he was betraying the people he loved most, whether or not it ever went beyond his own thoughts.

Even the mindless defensive tactics he'd been using to counteract his opponent came to a standstill upon that final realization; too late to stop the momentum, Percival let out alarmed yell as the ball of his mace slammed into Lancelot's chest.

* * *

"Like this?" Gwen held out the bowl of finely ground herbs for Gaius's approval as she flexed and curled her fingers. Working with the mortar and pestle was surprisingly strenuous, though having been given the opportunity to do something useful for the first time in days, she couldn't bring herself to mind.

"Yes, very good. You know, Gwen, if you'd ever be interested in an apprenticeship…"

But he never got to finish the statement – the door burst open just then to reveal a pair of knights with a third slumped heavily between them.

"What's this?" Gaius demanded, as Gwen dropped the bowl, not even noticing when the herbs she'd ground so carefully spilled all over the floor. "What happened?"

"Took a bad hit," Percival said a little breathlessly. "He isn't bleeding or anything, but I thought…."

"I'm all right," Lancelot mumbled, though the tension in his voice suggested otherwise.

Gaius gave a brief nod. "Bring him over here. Settle him on the bed, yes, that's right. We need to get this armor off. Lancelot, can you lift your arms?"

"Of course," and then he hissed in pain, the last bit of color draining from his face as he struggled to do as he'd been asked.

Gwen gasped at the sight of the large purple bruise as Percival helped him remove his mail and undershirt, then eased him back onto the pillows. Noticing her presence for the first time, Lancelot somehow managed to flash her a wan smile before returning his attention to Gaius.

Wrinkled fingers prodded gingerly at the bruise; Lancelot never complained, though the white knuckled grip on the bedclothes spoke for itself. Gaius frowned, muttering to himself as he completed the examination, then gave a satisfied nod.

"Your ribs aren't broken, just badly bruised. You were lucky, Lancelot. Lucky indeed."

"I'm sorry," Percival mumbled as he hovered awkwardly beside the bed. "It's my fault, I…"

Lancelot let out a sigh that somehow seemed to hold a lifetime of weariness. "Stop apologizing. You aimed a blow I've easily blocked more times than I can remember; you know that as well as I do."

"Indeed," Gaius agreed. "This is far from the first accident I've seen after a day on the training grounds. He'll be fine – though you might want to return to the others and let them know. I'm sure they're worried."

After Percival had gone, the old physician made quick work of spreading a thick layer of pungent smelling ointment across Lancelot's injury as he rattled off some basic instructions. "Take it easy for a few days, get plenty of rest, and let me know if you need anything for the pain."

"I'll be fine, thank you," Lancelot said, looking a bit better than he had when he'd arrived. But when he attempted to rise, a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him short.

"I don't want you to move just yet. Stay here and rest until morning."

The frustration in Lancelot's eyes was hard to miss, but he said nothing as he settled back against the pillows. 

"Gwen?"

She jumped as Gaius turned to address her. What was she still doing here? She should've left already… the minute it had been clear that Lancelot was in no danger, she should've made her excuses and left the men alone. But something had stopped her… the same something that always made it enormously difficult to walk away from him. It had always been so tenuous, never knowing if he'd be there or when he'd disappear, whether he'd live or die if she turned her back for even a minute. 

It was so different from Arthur – he'd also faced countless dangers over the years, and yet it somehow seemed as if he'd always be there, as solid and dependable as the walls of Camelot around her.

"I need to go make my evening rounds," Gaius was saying. "Can you see to Lancelot while I'm gone? I'm sure he'd like something to eat – there's some leftover stew in the pot."

"I'm all right, I don't need…"

"Of course."

And just like that, they were alone.

* * *

She tried to make a good show of pretending he wasn't even there as she focused her attention on heating up the rest of the beef and barley stew that she and Gaius had enjoyed for lunch. _Not too hot… don't want to scorch the vegetables. A bit of salt? Yes, it did taste a little bland before. Maybe I should cut up a few more carrots and throw them in?_

Yes, pretend there was nothing more important than the meal she was preparing, that's what she should do. Pretend she couldn't feel the eyes that were fixed on her back… eyes belonging to a man whom she'd struck and ordered out of her house only the night before. She just had to keep telling herself that all was well, continuing to ignore the ever present realization that the only thing stronger than her anger at Lancelot over what he'd done was the feelings his confession had awakened in her.

She might have managed to convince herself of a lot of things… if he hadn't chosen that moment to whisper her name. 

"Gwen."

After that, there was nothing but truth.

Whenever she reflected on it in the future, Gwen would always remember this as the day she'd been well and truly lost. She might forget exactly what had been said after she'd settled herself on the edge of the bed and allowed him to take her hand, but she'd know from that moment on that Lancelot, _her_ Lancelot, had recognized and suffered for his mistakes, far beyond the effects of any punishment she could have meted out. And she'd forgive him, for it was impossible to remain bitter toward the prisoner who'd already endured the executioner's axe.

There were no words as the sun set over the city of Camelot, bringing a close to a chapter in both their lives that had been years in the making. It was not yet time to discuss her conflicted emotions or the complication of her relationship with Arthur, nor what the future might hold for two people who could no longer deny the deep and lasting love they felt for one another… a love they were both honorbound to forsake at all costs. 

No, there was simply… peace.

That was the moment that bridged the past with everything that was yet to come… out of the darkness and into a golden dawn that was still so new, so clean and pure, that there was nothing to do but bask in its gentle glow. For it wasn't the love itself, but the acting upon it that would be the betrayal, the source for guilt and shame and a host of other unpleasant emotions. That was the final illusion they still clung to, and neither was quite ready to release it. Not now. Not yet.

And so they lingered in their simple closeness, hands clasped, not a word spoken that might shatter the serenity that lay between them. At long last, so perfectly, exquisitely together after all the interminable misunderstandings and endless separations, they finally knew the truth. For good or for ill, the love they felt for one another was permanent… a bond that ran so deep it could never be broken.

Just knowing should've been enough, for there was more security in that single truth than most people were lucky enough to experience in a lifetime. And yet it wasn't… not when sitting so close to him in a dimly lit chamber, watching the flickerings of a single candle dance in his eyes in a hypnotic rhythm that beckoned her close, then closer still… so close that she could clearly hear the soft hitch in his breath as she trailed a single finger across the shadowed contour of his stubbled cheek. 

And when she reflected upon it later, Gwen would never remember how his lips had found hers in the darkness.


	84. Inevitable

#  **Chapter 84: Inevitable**

* * *

Lancelot's arms were a barrier between Gwen and the rest of the world, putting any lingering uncertainties to rest. She was safe there, lost to everything but the warm, comforting scent of his skin, the soft breath upon her cheek, the desire in those fathomless dark eyes as they hungrily searched her own. There was no pain in that place, no room for fear or regret. Just the lightest touch of his lips on hers and it was all forgotten, from the countless misunderstandings to the long separation that lay behind them.

If their years apart had proven anything, it was that the love they shared was inescapable, as essential to their existence as the air they breathed. It was pointless to go on pretending otherwise, to fight what would only ever be a losing battle. Some things couldn't be broken – not by silence or separation, not even by the innumerable lies they'd told themselves in order to cope with living apart. Recognizing that also meant accepting there was no turning back – whatever lay ahead, they'd simply have to face it together.

Unfortunately, there was only time for that one kiss before the sound of shuffling footsteps in the corridor intruded upon their private sanctuary. Gwen leapt up as if she'd been scalded, already halfway to the door when it opened to reveal an exhausted Gaius. He didn't seem to suspect anything was amiss, however, just smiled and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze as he moved past her to check on his patient.

"You're looking much better," he said to Lancelot approvingly. "Gwen must have taken good care of you."

She couldn't look at either of them after that, not even when Lancelot agreed in what was a perfectly normal tone of voice. Mumbling a hasty "good night", she surrendered to the impulse to escape the palace as quickly as possible, only forcing herself to slow down after a guard stopped her to ask if there were some emergency that required his assistance. She needed to be alone, to put her scrambled thoughts in order before deciding how to feel about what had happened or how it might be prevented in the future.

… the problem was that the latter didn't seem possible. Not anymore.

A long, sleepless night brought her to two important conclusions: she couldn't deny her feelings for Lancelot, and she didn't want to hurt Arthur. It was shameful how easy it was to put the latter from her mind while lost in the moment, as if the two men owned completely separate parts of her heart with a wall of stone erected between them. And it was true – she'd known all along that she loved them in very different ways, with one taking nothing from the other. But the rest of the world wouldn't see it that way, would they?

What should she do? How could this be resolved without anyone getting hurt?

"It can't," she whispered sadly, rubbing her tired eyes as morning sunlight spilled over the horizon outside her open window.

What were her choices then? She could end things with Arthur, perhaps, but he was sure to see her love for Lancelot as a betrayal even if it happened after the fact. Lancelot was not only one of his most trusted knights, but also someone he counted among his closest friends. How would she ever be able to forgive herself for knowingly destroying the bond between them?

No, that wasn't the solution at all. Arthur couldn't know, it was as simple as that.

Unless… well, if _Arthur_ were the one to sever their relationship, wouldn't that be different? It was certainly possible he'd do that – she was still a servant after all these years and even with his father dead and buried, he was still hesitant to openly acknowledge their relationship. Yes, he might yet choose to bow to tradition and marry someone of his own rank for political reasons, and then she would be free. Following that, how would he be able to blame her for turning to Lancelot? He'd be obligated to honor his new bride, not involve himself in the love affairs of commoners.

But that thought made her curiously sad. Arthur had so much potential to change things for the better, to do away with the prejudices and rigid boundaries of his predecessors. She'd dreamed of being instrumental in that, of standing beside him as his queen and proving to the world that nobility came from the heart, not from having the proper bloodlines. It wasn't a desire for power and position, only what it represented, what she could do for the kingdom she loved. Could she give that up so easily?

Gwen was far from blind – she knew she brought out the best in Arthur, the one person in his life who was never satisfied with anything less. She questioned his judgment, pushed for higher standards, and he relied upon her for that and much else besides. What would he do without her around to give him guidance, especially when he surrounded himself with people who couldn't be trusted not to take advantage of his softhearted nature and wreak havoc upon the kingdom?

Arthur was a good leader in his own right, with strong convictions regarding justice and equality. But he was still so young, and far more naive than he realized, which was a dangerous combination in his position. He _needed_ her… someone to steer him in the right direction when no one else would dare to question his decisions. She couldn't just abandon him, and in truth, it was unrealistic to think he might do the same. For all his flaws, Arthur was a man of honor – he wouldn't have come this far only to leave her on a whim, even if he wasn't half as dependent on her as she knew him to be.

No... better to put that thought from her mind and find another solution.

But in the end, there wasn't one. She would've liked to convince herself that she could stay away from Lancelot, put him from her mind and honor her commitment to Arthur for the rest of her life. Unfortunately, that kind of lie wouldn't help her now… not in the face of a truth she'd been fighting for so long that she was simply too exhausted to do it anymore. Too many years of denial, far too many sacrifices along the way… Arthur might need her, but she needed Lancelot, so much that even just the thought of being without him again made it difficult to breathe.

In light of that, it seemed the only answer was to keep whatever went on between herself and Lancelot as a closely guarded secret. Deception was the one thing she'd wanted to avoid at all costs, yet what else could she do? She didn't have the option of choosing one over the other – that much was clear enough. But if Arthur never found out about it, would a few stolen moments be so bad? Would it truly be a betrayal, as long as she continued to fulfill her obligation of being everything he needed her to be?

Yes, it would be, and there was nothing that would excuse it away. But at least she could make sure no one was hurt by that betrayal other than herself.

* * *

After that night in Gaius's chamber, Lancelot promised himself one thing: whatever happened with Gwen from that moment on would be her choice and hers alone. He'd taken decisions out of her hands too many times in the past, tried to do the right thing, and every one of those situations had resulted in more heartbreak and loss than he ever wanted either of them to face again. He had to trust her to know what was best for herself; granted, that was easier said than done sometimes.

A few stolen kisses was all they managed during those first few weeks, and every time he saw that inevitable flash of guilt in her eyes, he'd wonder if the kindest thing to do wouldn't be to slip away in the night and never return, leaving her to a life that was free from the temptation of betrayal and the pain it obviously caused her whenever she surrendered to it. But he stayed right where he was, telling himself that he was honoring his promise while living with the more selfish realization that he _couldn't_ have walked away, whether that vow existed or not. 

It was far too late for that now.

And so he lived with the guilt and the shame, the endless worry over what might happen if the truth were ever discovered. He met Arthur in the field each day and at night in the feasting hall, going through the motions of everyday life even as he silently apologized for countless things he could only pray the other man would never know about. 

In the end, it didn't matter whether he was acting upon his feelings or not. Gwen could be in his arms or on the other side of the castle – his intentions were the same, all wrapped up in the need to possess her body and soul. He could not stem the flow of his needs and desires, not even for Arthur's sake or the loyalty he felt toward the other man. That loyalty ran deep, and yet was nothing compared to his love for her.

He'd never felt so helpless, as if he'd toppled headlong over a cliff, unable to resist her any more than he could've stopped himself in midair during a freefall plummet. That feeling didn't give him absolution for what he was doing, but it did save him from the heartbreaking decisions he'd made in the past, having come to the conclusion that leaving her was no longer in the realm of possibility.

He tried not to think about the future too much. No... better to enjoy what they had now, whispered words and sweet embraces that couldn't be shared as often as he would've liked, but were certainly more than he'd allowed himself to hope for in a very long time.

This fragile feeling of bliss was further aided by the fact that Gwen and Arthur were rarely seen together these days. Arthur's ever increasing duties imposed a severe limit on his time, of course, and Agravaine's growing influence clearly wasn't encouraging any acts of public affection between the couple. Indeed, there were times when Lancelot could almost convince himself that she belonged only to him, ashamed and yet far too enthralled to push the thought away.

Was there still a chance that might still be possible? And was it wrong for him to wish for it with every breath?

* * *

Gwen nearly screamed as an arm shot out from the alley; a large hand wrapped firmly around her wrist and pulled her into the darkness.

"Shhh, Gwen. It's me."

"Lancelot? What… you scared me half to death!"

"I'm sorry," he said, his face shadowed as he drew her into his arms. "I would've never… it's just… I missed you."

Relaxing into his embrace, Gwen willed her breathing to slow as she closed her eyes and felt the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek. "I know," she whispered. "It hasn't been easy. But we have to be careful. You know that."

In response, Lancelot placed one finger beneath her chin, tilting her face up for a soft, lingering kiss. "Forgive me," he entreated as his lips sought hers again, urging them apart and delving deeply before he continued. "I'm just not used to being away from you anymore."

It was true for both of them – he'd only been gone for a few days, along with Merlin, Arthur, and the rest of the knights. Less than a week, which should've been nothing compared with the years of separation that already lay behind them. But it had felt like a lifetime, only made worse by the fact that they hadn't found even a moment to be alone since his return. 

Plucking her from the street was a rash act, but she couldn't blame him for it either. It was becoming torture to see him around the palace each day, so fine, handsome, and strong, without being able to touch him… or even openly admire him the way she wanted to. His eyes certainly didn't help either, catching hers when no one else was paying attention, then smoldering with the promise of a hundred different delights she could scarcely imagine, but wanted desperately all the same.

It had taken so little to satisfy them in the beginning. Even a quick embrace shared in some forgotten corridor had been enough, being so much more than either had been accustomed to. But the novelty had worn off and now the hunger was growing. It burned in his eyes whenever he looked at her, made itself known in the increasing ferocity of his kisses. More than that, it was impossible to ignore the obvious bulge in his trousers... not the first time she'd felt it, of course, but different in that he made no effort to hide his arousal this time.

No, he did the opposite, which was exactly what she wanted. Her legs trembled as he pushed himself against her, the friction he created making her ache in places where no man had ever touched her before. His movements could only be a pale mockery of the act itself through so many layers of clothing, a realization that both frightened and intrigued her as she clung to his shoulders and let out a soft little moan. If it felt so good this way, what would it be like to… to…

Lancelot spoke just then, his words husky and uneven as he whispered in her ear in between the licks and nibbles that were threatening to drive her half mad with pleasure.

"Gwen, I need…"

"I know," she responded breathlessly. "But not here. Someone might see."

"Don't care," he practically growled as his mouth dipped lower to plant sucking kisses along her collarbone. "Can't wait…"

He was moving faster now, less rhythmic and much more urgent as his hands slid down to cup her backside and press her more firmly against him. Even through the thick layers of fabric, she could feel the heat of him, gasping a little too loudly when a slight change of angle had him rubbing up against her in just the right spot. The sound of her own pleasure startled her, bringing her back to her senses on some distant level.

This had to stop.

Oh, but it felt so... she lost her train of thought with a helpless whimper as the hands that were fumbling with the laces of her bodice finally managed to untie them, exposing her breasts to the shock of the cold night air for only a fraction of a second before the warmth of his hands and the delicious heat of his mouth descended upon the sensitive flesh.

"Lancelot..."

But it came out as a blissful sigh, not the firmly spoken interruption she'd intended it to be.

"L-Lancelot?"

"Mmmm. Gwen..."

She had to tell him now. Otherwise she'd be losing her innocence right here where anyone might see them, down in the dirt like one of those women the other knights visited after a night of too much ale. Lancelot was beyond rational thought, far past caution or propriety or anything else that would've normally guided his actions. She was too, in truth; only the faintest notion of what might happen if they were discovered this way made her choke out a single word, the last one she wanted to say in that moment.

"Stop."

Lancelot froze, panting heavily as he searched her face in the pale moonlight. She almost expected him to try and convince her otherwise – he was trembling, his eyes full of desperate hunger as they struggled to focus on hers. But instead, he let out a shuddering sigh and nodded, immediately following with a string of jerky apologies that she silenced with another kiss. This one was gentle, tender, with none of the urgency that had driven them both just a few moments before; she could feel him relax beneath her touch as she stroked his face with soothing fingers.

"I'm sorry," he said again after a few minutes, his voice a bit more steady this time. "That was…"

"Only to be expected," she finished for him, stepping back and giving him a rueful smile. "Lancelot, I want to… just not like…"

"No," he agreed. "You deserve better. I just don't know when or how…"

"We'll find a way. We always do."

And as he left her with one last kiss, unable to even escort her home for the fact that it would be too conspicuous, they both knew her final words to him were about so much more than simply finding an appropriate place to make love for the first time. Keeping to the shadows, he followed her at a distance, unwilling to leave her until she was safely inside, with candles burning on the windowsill like tiny beacons of hope.

Yes, somehow they would find a way.


	85. Precipice

#  **Chapter 85: Precipice**

* * *

Wandering restlessly through the streets of Camelot had become a nightly ritual for Lancelot, helping him maintain some small measure of sanity in a world filled with impotent frustration. 

Sleep rarely came easily these days. He'd lie in bed unable to think of anything but Gwen... just a few dozen steps away and yet maddeningly beyond his reach. And then he'd be overwhelmed by the urge to escape the stifling confines of his quarters, anything to get away from the unending solitude that pressed in all around him.

His mind and body were in constant turmoil, torn between the need to be with her and the terrible risk involved in acting upon his feelings. Oh, but how easy it would be to cross that short distance, then slip inside her house and rouse her from slumber with whispers of love and the softest of kisses. What wouldn't he give for just one night where he'd be free to lie with her as he'd longed to do since the first time they'd ever met? No secrecy, guilt or fear of discovery… no, nothing between them except a passion that had been waiting for what seemed like a lifetime to be satisfied.

"Lancelot, I want to… just not like…"

Those words had haunted him for weeks, the unmistakable confirmation that her desires were the same as his own. He'd been tormented by a thousand opportunities since then – the deserted alley where it had started, the secluded corridor in which they'd shared impassioned kisses on more than one occasion. He could've made love to her anywhere, without a care for how rushed or uncomfortable it was as long as he could finally know the bliss of being inside her. 

But that was his body talking, inevitably overruled by a heart that insisted it must be done right if it was to happen at all. She deserved so much more than some frantic coupling in a dusty storage room or a quick rut in the stables with the stench of manure all around her.

But when? Where? How could he hope to find a suitable place where the chance of discovery wouldn't be far too great to risk it?

He'd nearly given into the temptation to knock on her door one night, only to withdraw into the shadows when the sound of Merlin's laughter had come floating out of the open window. No, he couldn't just visit her after dark without arousing suspicion, and smuggling her into his own quarters was out of the question. Too many guards patrolling the corridors, pacing up and down the streets all around him. 

Far too many watching eyes…

There was no solution, only stolen kisses and longing looks interspersed with bouts of self pleasure that seemed to drive his need to a fever pitch rather than bringing it under control. Oh, there were always a few precious moments of relief, whispering her name into the hollow darkness as he spilled himself on the cold stone floor. But it never lasted – a single thought, one fleeting memory of her body pressed against his and he was hard all over again, making it abundantly clear that the efforts of his fumbling hands were nothing more than a pale imitation of the release he truly needed.

Such a pressing desire held many other thoughts at bay, particularly where Arthur was concerned. The remorse was always there, of course, guilt and no small amount of shame… but those emotions were nothing more than dull whispers in comparison to the very real fear that he'd go mad if his needs were denied for much longer. Everything else seemed insignificant in the face of that and indeed, he could still find some small solace in the fact that he hadn't truly  _acted_ upon his passions just yet. 

Until that time came, it was easy to excuse away a traitorous thought or a secret embrace, to exercise caution without dwelling upon the consequences of a betrayal that hadn't even been committed in full.

Tethered to an existence of quiet desperation, not knowing how to proceed and unable to face the reality of what it would mean when he did… Lancelot might have continued that way indefinitely, were it not for a seemingly unrelated incident that would ultimately change their lives forever. 

That was the day Arthur chose to act upon his uncle's treacherous advice, committing what was perhaps the most catastrophic mistake of his kingship.

Lancelot tried to reason with him even after Merlin had failed in the attempt, pointing out the dishonor in cutting a man down in cold blood no matter what his crime had been. There simply had to be another way, he argued, but the words fell on deaf ears. And when he switched tactics, speaking of the retribution that would surely come to pass as a result of humiliating another king through such an act, it was Agravaine who stepped out of the shadows, commanding him to silence.

"What right do you have to question your king?"

Lancelot said nothing to the man he'd grown to loathe with every fiber of his being. His attention remained on Arthur instead, in what was to become a crucial moment of truth. Where was his leader now, the man who'd encouraged a handful of ragtag commoners to take a seat at a round table with the insistence that all men were equal, every opinion was valued, and that mercy above all things would be the cornerstone of his reign? _That_ was the commander he'd pledged his life and service to, one who was bold and decisive, with uncompromising ideals regarding honor and justice.

Where was the noble young prince Lancelot had idolized as a youth, then followed without hesitation in more recent times? That Arthur would've stuck to his principles no matter the cost, would have been appalled by Agravaine's cold brutality…

But that Arthur was nowhere to be found in the bleak-faced man who simply said, "Enough, Lancelot. My decision is final."

* * *

King Caerleon didn't expect to die. Lancelot could see it in his eyes, despite his grand show of calling Arthur's bluff and all outward appearances of preparing for his execution with dignity. His every word and action were filled with skepticism, an unwavering conviction that if he gave no quarter, the younger king would have no choice but to capitulate beneath his superior strength. He remained that way even when the blade fell, calm and self-assured until his cleanly severed head hit the ground, wearing an expression that was forever frozen in an awful moment of realization. 

The unmistakable shock in his blank stare was far more horrifying than the blood and gore that sprayed across the clearing.

None of Lancelot's fellow knights so much as blinked in the aftermath. Like himself, no doubt, they'd expected a reprieve at the final moment, not knowing how to reconcile the grim faced figure still clutching a dripping sword in both hands with the far more merciful leader they'd always assumed him to be.

"Well done, Your Highness," Agravaine finally said in an unctuous tone that made Lancelot's skin crawl. "Our enemies will surely think twice before testing our resolve in the future."

"You're wrong," he muttered under his breath before he could stop himself.

"What was that?"

It had been the height of folly, but there was no taking it back now. He looked directly in Agravaine's eyes, black and cold, and repeated himself more loudly. "I said, you're wrong."

That hateful smirk never wavered. "I fear these matters are beyond you, _Sir_ Lancelot. You might be an adequate fighter, but what could you possibly know about what it takes to rule a kingdom?"

"I know that violence will only be answered by violence and should only ever be our last resort. I know that an act of mercy speaks much more loudly than brutality, and that it is anything but a weakness. I know…"

"Pretty ideals no doubt pulled from a storybook," Agravaine said condescendingly. "They have no bearing on reality… unless you're suggesting that the best course of action would be for Arthur to hand his kingdom to our enemies on a silver platter?"

"Of course not, but…"

"Of course not. Right. I'd suggest you remember your place, that you are sworn to serve and not to lead. I'm sure you wouldn't want to give anyone reason to question your… loyalty."

"Uncle…"

Arrogance immediately shifted to an almost theatrical show of obedience as Arthur stepped closer wearing a concerned expression. "Forgive me, sire, it's been a trying day. I would never mean to suggest that…"

"No, I understand. Agravaine's right, Lancelot. I know your heart is in the right place, but as I told you last night, the matter is not up for discussion. Let's just go home and put it behind us."

* * *

The messenger had not surprised Lancelot, nor had the news that Caerleon's queen had amassed a mighty army that had already crossed the border and was less than a day away from reaching the city. Arthur's error in judgment had left them no choice – Camelot's forces would ride out at daybreak to meet their foe, and it was almost certain that hundreds of lives would be lost in the process.

Lancelot wasn't afraid of war, or even the strong likelihood of his own demise. He'd gladly faced both on more than one occasion, honored to stand beside his friends in the effort to protect the kingdom they all believed in. He would do no less this time – vows had been spoken that couldn't be undone, and at any rate, it wasn't in his nature to allow others to fight in his place. 

But that didn't cancel out the quiet frustration, the disillusionment of a man who understood that _this_ conflict could have been easily avoided. How much had already been lost, and what more would be sacrificed before it was over? And all for nothing.

He should have been in bed, getting as much rest as possible before what would no doubt be a long and exhausting battle. Instead, he found himself wandering the streets again, struggling to come to terms with an overwhelming feeling of disappointment, not to mention a good deal of helpless anger. It was his own fault really – how many years had he spent holding Arthur to standards that simply weren't realistic for someone who was really just a flawed human being like himself? How many things had he chosen to overlook or ignore in the effort to hold onto his illusions? 

True, Arthur had a good heart and he _did_ do the right thing more often than not. But his uncertainty, the tendency to blindly trust the wrong people and yes, remaining oblivious to the needs and feelings of those around him... those flaws would prevent him from ever being the kind of leader Camelot needed. And if he couldn't see his own shortcomings, refused to listen to his friends, how could there be any hope for a better future?

Lancelot hated to be so cynical, but his thoughts only became more bleak when he thought of Merlin. How could Arthur treat him the way he did after so many years of unquestioning loyalty and tireless service? Why couldn't he see that out of everyone who surrounded him, it was Merlin who was unquestionably the wisest, the bravest, the person who was willing to sacrifice more for the kingdom than any other? Arthur treated him like a nuisance more often than not, rolling his eyes at heartfelt advice and delivering cruel insults on a daily basis. 

Meanwhile, he was willing to trust a snake like Agravaine? Why? Simply because the man was a blood relation? Blind, so blind… the same willful ignorance that led him to speak of his own father with the deepest respect, disregarding the fact that the former king had been a tyrant and murderer. Thousands of innocent lives destroyed, one of which could have easily been the woman Arthur claimed to love. How was it possible to overlook that?

As if conjured from thin air by Lancelot's musings, Arthur suddenly appeared, moving stealthily around a corner just a few paces ahead. He was in disguise, hooded and cloaked, but there was no mistaking the proud set of those shoulders. Ducking back into the shadows, he watched unseen, curious at first and then overwhelmed by envy when the king reached Gwen's door and was quickly let inside.

He should've expected it. This was the eve of battle, after all, and why wouldn't they wish to exchange their proper goodbyes? But the lack of public affection between the couple combined with Gwen's careful avoidance of the topic had made it easy to suppress the reality until it was something faint and abstract, with no unwelcome visuals rising to torment him until that moment.

No, he wasn't prepared for the suddenly vivid mental picture of Arthur sweeping Gwen into his arms, kissing her passionately, caressing her body in places that were still unknown to Lancelot himself. Perhaps even now he was untying the laces of her bodice and letting her nightgown fall to the floor, urging her to lie on the bed, and…

He'd always refused to let himself wonder whether or not they made love, when, where, or how often it occurred. But there was no denying it now… visits to her home in the middle of the night, countless hours alone in the royal chambers? That could only mean one thing. And the worst of it was that he couldn't fault either of them for their actions, even though the thought of them being alone behind closed doors made him sick with jealousy. It only led back to the tangled mess that Lancelot himself had created all those years before, a single moment of lunacy when he'd willingly pushed her into another man's arms.

But just when he feared he might break down the door in a fit of helpless rage, Arthur appeared again, casting a surreptitious glance around him before hurrying back to the palace. He couldn't have been inside for more than five minutes, for all that it had felt like an eternity from Lancelot's perspective. What… surely not enough time to bid farewell to one's lover under such dire circumstances? Something wasn't right…

Suddenly, he didn't care anymore. Any threat of consequences seemed next to nothing compared with the abrupt realization that this could easily be his final chance to be with her. What if he was struck down on the morrow, left to lie in the mud, bleeding, dying, haunted by countless things he'd never said and done? 

Gwen must have known that Lancelot loved her. But did she realize what that meant? That it was his feelings for her that had given him purpose for years beyond counting, his salvation a thousand times over when he might've given up hope, even squandered his life for want of a reason to keep breathing? Had he ever told her that she had always been everything he'd ever wanted, that nothing could possibly mean more to him than what he felt for her?

A single night could never be enough to prove the depth of his feelings, but it was something. And so he slipped out of the shadows and knocked quietly on her door, drawing one last, deep breath to settle his nerves as it slowly opened.


	86. Consummation

#  **Chapter 86: Consummation**

* * *

"Lancelot?" Gwen frowned in confusion, even as her heart began to beat a little faster. "It's past midnight. What are you doing here?"

"May I come in?"

"I… of course!" and then remembering herself, she glanced anxiously up and down the deserted street before hastily waving him inside. "No one saw you, did they?"

Lancelot accepted the chair she offered, unclasping his cloak and laying it across the table before he responded. "I don't think so. The streets are empty; most of the guards are patrolling the outer walls tonight. I… forgive me. I needed to see you before I leave tomorrow. In case the worst should happen, and…"

Gwen reached across the table, covering his hand with her own. "Don't say that. It doesn't bear thinking."

He opened his mouth as if to respond, then let out a heavy sigh and closed it again. Instinct told her to go to him, that this wasn't the time for carefully chosen words or lingering reservations. But she hesitated; everything was changing so fast, and she hadn't even begun to wrap her mind around it just yet. Had Arthur meant what he'd said? Was it truly over between them? And how did she feel about that? How could she begin to sort out all her conflicting emotions, or hope to reconcile the admittedly intriguing concept of freedom with so much sadness and regret? Was she free to be with Lancelot now, or would it still be considered a betrayal in Arthur's eyes? She needed time to think and yet there was none – not when Camelot was on the brink of war and tomorrow was so uncertain.

And so she told Lancelot what had happened, dry eyed and unemotional as she described herself in Arthur's words – an inappropriate choice that the people would never accept as their queen.

She'd never seen him so outraged, his dark eyes blazing with fury as he stared at her in disbelief. Realizing he was beyond the ability to respond quite yet, she continued, biting her lip and twisting her hands in her lap as she attempted to explain her complicated feelings.

"It's not that… I mean, if it had happened under different circumstances, I might've even felt it was for the best. If he'd fallen in love with someone else, or… I don't know. But all those years... believing he could be better, thinking I could teach him that everyone deserved to be treated equally. To find myself right back where I started... just a servant in his eyes, not good enough for…"

"You are _not_ just a servant," Lancelot interrupted, his voice shaking with anger. "If Arthur cannot see that… cannot appreciate…"

"I know. But this isn't him. I suppose that's why it bothers me so much. I'm just disappointed that he can still… that he would allow…" she trailed off and shook her head, clinging to the hand that had somehow become wrapped around her own.

"I understand, Gwen. Maybe not completely, but you're not alone in feeling this way. We've all put so much faith in Arthur, and when he falls short of expectations, it's impossible to know whether that's because he's truly acting out of character or if it's just some part of him we did not allow ourselves to see. I cannot say which is true in your case, but one possibility is just as unacceptable as the other in my mind. There's no excuse for the way he's treated you."

Gwen was stunned into silence by his words. All along, she'd simply expected Arthur to grow out of behaviors she disapproved of – the bullying and childish insults, his naive, overly trusting nature, the tendency to cling to old prejudices and make poor decisions. She'd always assumed that if she didn't give up on him, never stopped believing he could be a better man, he'd eventually rise above his numerous shortcomings and become the king she'd always imagined he could be. 

After all, for every rude remark or lack of consideration, there had always been some noble deed or moment of courage to balance it out. But what if all her hopes had been nothing more than wishful thinking? Had he really changed as much as she'd tried to convince herself he had? Or was he really just the same Arthur underneath it all, stubborn and shortsighted, refusing to recognize his own mistakes?

It was an unpleasant thought, and yet how could she deny that there must be some truth to it? He'd spent years insisting that it didn't matter if she was a commoner, but if that were true, how could he then turn around and shame her for being a servant? And what about the way he treated Merlin? That had been her own blind spot, she realized; it would've been much more difficult to maintain faith in him if she'd paid too much attention to the constant insults, not to mention the way he overworked Merlin to the point of exhaustion on a daily basis. All because he was a servant, and that was simply how servants were treated.

"Gwen?"

"What? Oh, I'm sorry, Lancelot. I was just thinking."

"Do you want me to go? I'll understand if you need to be alone."

"Please don't. I just… it's been a confusing day. I'm not sure how I should be feeling right now."

Lancelot gave her a sad smile. "I know. The last thing I want is to make this more complicated for you than it already is. If you need time, or even no longer wish to continue with… what's been happening between us, I'll accept that. All I've ever wanted was to see you happy."

And then the truth hit her, strong and clear amidst a whirl of helpless confusion. There were so many things she couldn't reconcile quite yet – who Arthur was and what he meant to her, whether he'd change his mind or what she'd do if it came to that. 

But Lancelot… the love she felt for him was permanent, unchanging... safe. Lancelot would never throw her away on a whim, never find fault with her that would lead him to humiliate her as Arthur had done. He was a man who learned from his mistakes and sought never to repeat them, not someone who needed to be scolded like a child over the same trespasses again and again. And as she looked upon him sitting across the table, his dark eyes so patient, tender and kind, she felt a moment of awe upon the realization that there was nothing about him she'd ever want to change. 

That was the difference between him and Arthur, and suddenly the only one that mattered anymore.

He wouldn't come to her, Gwen realized, not if he thought she was the least bit uncertain about her feelings. The way forward rested entirely in her hands, and even though those final steps had not yet been taken, she knew there was no turning back. Whatever the consequences might be, her decision was made.

Lancelot must've seen the intention in her eyes as she rose and approached him. His breath was suddenly harsh and uneven, knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the table. He wouldn't allow himself to touch her, however, despite the perspiration that appeared on his forehead and the almost painful need in his gaze as she removed her wrap and began to untie the laces of her bodice. No, he needed to hear her say it, had to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was what she wanted. 

"Lancelot, please. I need…"

She couldn't find the words, but it was enough. The chair toppled over with a crash as his mouth found hers, an almost savage kiss that elicited a helpless moan of pleasure as she parted her lips in submission to his demanding tongue. His strong hands restlessly caressed her back for only a moment before he gave up on the futile effort to pace himself and grabbed fistfuls of her loose linen nightgown, pulling it over her head in one deft motion. 

She didn't have time to feel self conscious as her naked skin was exposed to the chilly night air; he was already at her breasts, groaning low in his throat as his tongue darted out to taste one nipple and then draw it fully into his mouth. He was much more forceful than he'd been in the past, but that only made the pleasure more intense – lips and hands and teeth and tongue drawing forth shameless cries that made her grateful she'd had the presence of mind to close her windows earlier that night.

And then she couldn't think at all, could only gaze at him through hazy eyes as he blazed a sensuous path down her body, kneeling at her feet as he rained kisses across the soft, sensitive flesh of her stomach. His shaking fingers caught the ties of her undergarment, no doubt realizing as she had that there was just one flimsy wisp of fabric left to prevent him from… she didn't exactly know what to expect next, having reached the extent of her previous experience. 

Now it was the unknown that beckoned her forward.

He looked up at her, his eyes smoldering with desire yet mixed with a strange sort of vulnerability. And then she realized this was another threshold, the next step that required her consent before he'd be willing to proceed. But she couldn't speak, could barely breathe… all she knew was that she wanted him to… needed _something_ … the ache between her legs was unbearable, growing in intensity each time he exhaled, so close she could feel his hot breath ghosting across her damp skin.

"Gwen," he choked out, and she could only moan in response, desperately hoping he'd interpret it as the wordless encouragement she needed it to be. If he chose to stop what he was doing, or redirect his attentions elsewhere for fear that she wasn't ready quite yet...

But no, he was tugging on the ribbons at her waist, panting and fumbling and cursing to himself before the distinct sound of ripping fabric mingled with a sigh of relief. She giggled, and then gasped aloud as he pressed his mouth against the fine thatch of hair that lay between her thighs, gripping the table to steady herself as he nudged her legs apart and delved deeper with the tip of his tongue. 

Soon enough, she was lying flat on her back with no idea how she'd come to be that way, legs draped over his shoulders, moaning and writhing as he pleasured her in ways she'd never thought possible. The exquisite pressure was building, growing, making her cry out in helpless abandon as his fingers pushed more deeply inside her... and then the world exploded.

When she came back to herself, Lancelot was there beside her, lifting her in his arms and kissing her tenderly, swallowing her last whimpers of release as he carried her across the room and lowered her onto the bed. She felt heavy, languid, so deeply satisfied that it was hard to imagine there was more to come. 

But there was, of course; mesmerized, she settled herself against the pillows and watched as he began to undress. It didn't occur to her to avert her eyes as he pulled his chain mail over his head, then shrugged out of his padded undershirt and reached for the laces of his trousers. They were beyond that now, and at any rate, his attention was fixed on her breasts, practically scorching her with the intensity of his stare as he devoured the sight of her naked body laid out before him. 

In a moment of shamelessness she would've never thought herself capable of until that moment, she caught his eye and then deliberately opened her legs, offering up her most secret places for his perusal.

He licked his lips, clearly recalling the taste of her as he let out a shaky groan and half stepped, half stumbled out of his trousers. And then she was the one who couldn't tear her eyes away, admiring his lean yet powerful silhouette in the dim candlelight. Her eyes moved lower and she nearly gasped as she saw the evidence of his desire, so much bigger and more intimidating than she'd ever expected it to be. 

Would it hurt? Swallowing hard as he moved toward the bed, she suddenly regretted the modesty that had led her to avoid frank discussions about such things in her younger years. She knew the basics, of course, but precious little beyond that. What should she do? Should she tell him she'd never done this before? And yet even if she could bring herself to say it out loud, she didn't want him to know she was frightened, to think she didn't trust him. More than that, she _wanted_ this to happen… so much that she was reluctant to say anything that might discourage him from going through with it.

But then he stretched out beside her on the narrow bed and she sighed blissfully at the unexpected pleasure of skin upon skin, forgetting all about her nervousness. He captured her lips once more, kissing her deeply as he caressed her breasts, her hips and stomach, setting her thighs to trembling as they instinctively parted beneath his touch. Rising to kneel between them, his fingers slid inside her only briefly this time, confirming her readiness, or so she assumed. She could feel his erection pressing against her, hot and heavy as he reached down and positioned himself at her entrance. 

And then he hesitated, eyes going in and out of focus, breathing raggedly as he searched her face.

"Gwen…"

Even then, she knew he would stop at a single word from her. No matter how much it pained him to do so, she only needed to tell him that she wasn't ready and that would be the end of it. But that was the last thing she wanted, and so she shifted her hips, ignoring the uncomfortable pressure as her body stretched to accommodate just the tip of him, and whispered, "Yes."

She felt his muscles tense before his hips jerked almost violently, burying himself inside her with one hard thrust. Tears stung her eyes as she let out a sharp cry of pain and he froze, dawning realization swiftly followed by remorse.

"I thought you and… I didn't know. Forgive me, I should have..."

"It's all right," she said softly, resisting the overpowering urge to squirm away from the source of her discomfort. "I'm fine, I just wasn't expecting…"

Lancelot shook his head, looking deeply ashamed. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No," she whispered, adjusting her hips in a way that eased the pressure somewhat. "Just… go slow. Please."

The expression of relief on his face was almost palpable; Gwen turned her head and smiled against his shoulder as he began to move again, slowly, tentatively, as if she were made of glass that might shatter at any moment. He was trying so hard to restrain himself; meanwhile, the sharp pain had ebbed away into a dull ache, which was soon replaced by the first faint stirrings of pleasure deep within. Lancelot watched her closely as his hips rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, but she could see that his restraint was becoming more and more of a struggle to maintain. His eyes kept drifting closed, soft gasps and groans emerging from his parted lips with every cautious thrust.

At first, she wanted more simply for his sake, but it didn't take long to realize that her own body was demanding the same, suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling that she couldn't get enough of him. She moaned against his neck and turned her head, hungry for his kisses, lifting her knees a little higher and then wrapping her legs around his waist to allow for deeper access. When he paused, clearly an enormous effort judging by the pained expression on his face, she nearly cried out in frustration.

"Are you all right?" he managed to rasp out.

"Yes," she said breathlessly. "Please don't stop." And then she gasped out something that might have been his name as he rose up on his arms and began to thrust faster, harder, his body trembling and slick with sweat as he strained for release. Pain was nothing more than a distant memory now – there was only hot, sweet pleasure coiling deep within her, helpless whimpers and soft cries building to a crescendo as she began to move with him, lifting her hips as her fingers dug into his shoulders, his backside, urging him to drive deeper with every frantic thrust. She needed…

And then it happened again; she came apart with a violent shudder, nearly sobbing at the sweet release that seemed to radiate all the way to the tips of her toes and back again. It was clear that was what Lancelot had been waiting for when he immediately followed with a strangled cry, hips jerking out of rhythm, body spasming as he swiftly withdrew and spilled himself harmlessly on the floor. 

_Bless him,_ she thought vaguely as he fell back onto the bed with a sigh of relief. _I hadn't even considered..._

There were no words in the aftermath, nothing that needed to be said as he pulled the covers over them both in one last valiant show of strength. Lying exhausted in his arms, she listened to his heartbeat as it gradually slowed to a normal pace, her eyes drifting closed as the lone candle on the windowsill finally sputtered out. 

And then she awoke to the sound of her name, frowning in confusion at the soft gray light that had filled the room. Lancelot was standing beside the bed fully clothed, fastening the clasp of his cloak and then leaning over to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"I have to go. I don't want to, but I must."

She nodded, recognizing the sad resignation in his eyes and knowing her own must mirror the same. But there was something else there, too... peaceful acceptance, even a quiet joy that filled her own heart as she reached out to touch his face. In that moment, it was somehow understood that whatever happened in the days to come, neither would regret this one precious night they'd been lucky enough to share. 

And for the time being, that was enough.


	87. The Morning After

#  **Chapter 87: The Morning After**

* * *

Fighting a wave of exhaustion as he trudged up the palace steps, Lancelot was unable to recall the last time he'd had a decent night's rest. War or no war, all he wanted to do was shut himself away in his chamber, then crawl into bed and not open his eyes again for a week.

Well, no, that wasn't true. What he _really_ wanted was to turn around and go right back to Gwen, already missing the comfort of her soft, slumbering body in his arms and the caress of her sweet breath upon his neck. But no matter how tired he was, he wouldn't sleep if he did that... not until he'd coaxed her awake long enough to make love again in the gentle morning sunlight.

It had been a test of willpower beyond imagining to disentangle himself from her drowsy embrace, then rise and dress in the frigid little room. Glancing back at her had been a mistake – the sight of her lying there with her rich, dark curls spread across the pillow, lips slightly apart and still swollen from his kisses was almost more than he could take. She'd shifted onto her side, blanket sliding down to expose her bare breasts and he'd very nearly lost himself, already halfway to the bed before he'd stopped in his tracks with a frustrated groan. Just one kiss, a single caress… surely there was time for that at least? But no, he couldn't trust himself to leave it at that, no matter how much caution might dictate he do so.

Time and again, he'd begged the fates for just one chance to lie with Gwen, a single opportunity to feel the bliss of being inside her. He couldn't have known that when the moment finally came, he'd only be awakening a ferocious hunger rather than finding the relief he'd anticipated. 

Not that he hadn't been satisfied – on the contrary, he'd never felt so relaxed, so blissfully complete than he had in the immediate aftermath of their lovemaking. But that feeling hadn't lingered, only the memory of her sweet warmth wrapped tightly around him, her cries of passion echoing distantly in his ears as he'd stumbled across the room and splashed handfuls of icy water over his heated face.

Of course, it did little to cool his fervor; nothing could accomplish that short of Gwen herself. But it had been sobering enough to take a deep, steadying breath and approach the bed again, bidding her farewell with a chaste kiss upon her brow before he'd slipped away just a few minutes before sunrise.

Suppressing a yawn as he approached his chamber, he frowned as he spotted Merlin hurrying in his direction with an anxious look on his face. 

"Lancelot, I've been looking all over for you! Where have you been?"

"I was… I couldn't sleep so I took a walk. Why, what's the matter? I thought we were not set to depart for at least another hour."

"We're not, but Arthur wants to see you. Said it's urgent; you wouldn't believe what he threatened to do to me if I didn't find you soon. Said he was going to…"

Lancelot's empty stomach plummeted into his boots, the rest of Merlin's words falling upon his ears like so much gibberish as he struggled to catch his breath. Arthur… did he know? Had Lancelot somehow been spotted either entering or leaving Gwen's house, despite how cautious he'd been in doing so? What would happen to him now? And to Gwen… good lord, what could he say that would protect her from the brunt of Arthur's wrath?

Forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other, he followed Merlin to the Council Chamber, fearing the worst as they passed through the wide double doors.

But Arthur didn't seem angry when he glanced up at them, more… regretful? Slightly ashamed? He nodded respectfully, swallowing his confusion as he waited for the king to speak.

"Ah, there you are, Lancelot. Thought we'd lost you."

"No, sire. I'll be ready to ride out within the hour."

"Well… that's actually what I wanted to speak with you about." Arthur paused, seeming to struggle with some inner conflict before he continued. "We… that is _I_ feel it would be best if you remained behind."

Lancelot stared at him in shock. "I don't understand. Have I done something wrong?"

"No, of course not. It's just that… well, someone needs to stay here and keep watch on the city. Someone who the people, and especially the guards, will obey without question if it comes to that. Few have more thorough knowledge of our defenses than you do, Lancelot. Certainly no one I'd trust with this task."

"Thank you, Arthur, but…" How could he point out that he was probably Camelot's strongest fighter, that his sword would no doubt be desperately needed, without sounding arrogant? "I wish to stand beside you. I want to fight."

Arthur glanced away, unable to meet his eyes. "I know. I've never doubted your loyalty, but…"

"But under the circumstances," Agravaine interjected as he sidled into the room wearing an expression of smug satisfaction, "you've made it quite clear that you disagree with the reasons for this conflict. We cannot expect a soldier, even one with an otherwise exemplary record such as yours, to fully commit himself to a fight he doesn't believe in."

"That isn't… I'm not…" Lancelot sputtered, too furious to even begin to know how to express his outrage. "I am a Knight of Camelot! I…"

"Lancelot, please," Arthur said quietly, coming around the table to place a hand on his shoulder. "This isn't a punishment. What Agravaine means is, well… it just seems that your skills would be put to better use here at home. Just this time, of course; no doubt there'll be other battles in the future, and I'll be proud to have you at my side. Now please, say you'll do it and give me one less thing to worry about. Time is short and there's still much that needs to be done before we depart."

"I…" Lancelot let out a heavy sigh and bowed his head in resignation. "Of course, sire."

* * *

Gwen didn't awaken until late afternoon, stretching luxuriously and then wincing at the soreness between her legs. She lifted the blankets and examined herself, expecting she would look different somehow. But no, other than a smear of blood on her thigh, her body was much the same, full breasts, slender waist, gently curving hips and legs that were perhaps not as long as some, but shapely nonetheless. She'd never given much thought to the way she must appear without her clothing, but after seeing herself reflected from Lancelot's perspective, remembering the way his eyes had devoured her like a starving man presented with a banquet, she was suddenly mesmerized by the sight.

She could still smell him on her skin, spices and wood smoke and clean, masculine sweat. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, her hands skimming across bare, sensitive flesh as she tried to conjure up a more vivid memory of his touch. Every nerve ending was at full attention, somehow more awake, aware, alive than they'd ever been in the past, and right then, all she wanted to do was…

But no, she'd already overslept to an embarrassing degree, and although there'd certainly be less to do around the palace with most of the inhabitants away, she still wanted to report to work before the day was done. The other servants were unlikely to question her behavior; it was understood that she reported directly to Arthur, after all, and any set schedule had fallen to the wayside since Uther's death. 

Nonetheless, she disliked the idea of others picking up the slack for her, and so she rose and dressed, wishing she could afford something more than a small basin of cold water and lye soap with which to bathe herself. What she wouldn't give for a tub filled with steaming, fragrant bathwater, the kind she'd prepared for Morgana hundreds of times over the years.

The streets were empty as she hurried toward the palace, the sun already beginning to set over the intricately carved stone turrets. Her mind turned to the battle then, wondering how the men had fared, if the fight was over, and when they'd be coming home. She refused to let her anxieties overwhelm her – Camelot's forces had faced far worse in the past, and those she loved were among the strongest warriors of all. The chance of losing any of them was minimal; another couple of days and they'd be safe within the city walls again, and then she'd be laughing at herself for worrying in the first place.

Still, she didn't like the hollow emptiness of the corridors, the unnatural silence all around her. Suddenly craving a familiar face, she changed direction and headed toward the physician's chamber. Responsibilities be damned – Gaius was always lonely and fretful during Merlin's absences, painfully obvious despite his valiant efforts to pretend otherwise. For years, she'd made a special point of checking up on him whenever she was also obligated to remain behind, finding it to be a great comfort for them both.

Gaius was in the midst of brewing a remedy when she entered, however, flashing her a distracted smile as he dropped a handful of feverfew into the simmering pot. She decided to wait, realizing he was nearly finished and not ready to get to work just yet in any case. Wandering over to the window, she gazed down over the city; this vantage point had always been one of her favorite spots. But the streets looked so desolate, not a red cloak in sight, and despite her determination not to worry, she suddenly couldn't help herself. With the exception of Gaius, everyone she loved was somewhere out there beyond the dark, forbidding trees, preparing to face an unknown enemy. What were they doing at that moment? Were they all right?

Understanding the pensive look on her face as he came to stand beside her, Gaius said, "Don't worry, Gwen. They'll be back soon, I'm sure."

"It's different this time though, isn't it? Arthur's king now. The fate of Camelot rests on his shoulders alone."

And perhaps that was the real reason she found it more difficult than usual to put her anxieties to rest. For all that he was a strong leader in many ways, Arthur's judgment was still unpredictable and she feared the consequences if he didn't learn to rely upon those he could trust while disregarding others who clearly had ulterior motives. She didn't know what had transpired leading up to this battle – all Arthur had said was that it was unavoidable before refusing to elaborate on the subject.

"He's not alone, Gwen. You above all people should know that."

"I do know that," she said softly. "But I'm not sure he does."

That thought stayed with her as she made her way through the castle, dusting an odd table here and there and changing soiled linens as she came across them. There wasn't much to do, really, but she was too restless to go home just yet, nor did she feel like heading down to the kitchens where they could always use an extra set of hands. Those who were specifically assigned to that area were possessive of their territory, and she wasn't in the mood to deal with their disapproving looks and muttered criticisms if she inadvertently breached some code of etiquette she hadn't known existed.

And so she wandered aimlessly, thinking of Lancelot and Arthur, wondering again what had led the latter to sever their relationship so abruptly. She couldn't shake the feeling that someone else had persuaded him to make such an unexpected decision, and that frightened her... particularly since she had strong suspicions as to who it must have been. Did Agravaine have that much of a hold over Arthur now, free to advise on his personal life as well as matters of state? 

It was a terrifying thought after having had a taste of Agravaine's true nature, remembering the callous way he'd wanted to treat the refugees during the Dorocha invasions, not to mention the persistent belief that he'd somehow been involved in the attempt on her life during that time. It was obvious her counsel wasn't welcome as far as he was concerned… how many others would also be silenced thanks to his self-serving machinations?

And then she gasped aloud as the tall, broad shouldered figure stepped out of the doorway at the other end of the hall, instantly recognizing him even though he was clad in a light linen shirt and trousers rather than his usual knight's regalia.

"Lancelot?"

At first she thought she was seeing things, that she'd conjured up a vision of him through the sheer force of wishful thinking. But as he turned and walked toward her, it was clear that he was as solid and real as she was. Memories of the previous night suddenly assaulted her mind; she blushed furiously before managing to compose herself. 

"Gwen."

"What are you doing here? I thought…"

He rubbed his eyes, clearly having just woken up judging by his tousled hair and the pillow creases that were still imprinted on his cheek. But he smiled, reaching out and taking her hand for a moment before dropping it, clearing his throat abruptly as he glanced up and down the empty hall.

"Not here. Come."

* * *

Bringing her into his own chambers was a bold move, certainly a foolish one under normal circumstances. But this part of the castle was empty – the servants had no reason to come down this corridor when the only knight in residence insisted on doing most things for himself, and the small collection of guards who'd remained behind were stationed near the entryways, not deep within the fortress.

He shut the door quickly all the same, dropping the heavy bar in place before he allowed himself a small sigh of relief.

"Is this safe?"

"As safe as it will ever be," he said quietly, watching as she inspected her surroundings with an expression of open curiosity. There wasn't much to see, really – a small table and a couple of chairs, a tall mahogany wardrobe and porcelain washstand, and of course, the large double bed, which suddenly seemed to dominate the room. That was the only show of luxury in his otherwise sparse quarters – he hadn't been able to think of a reason to refuse the rich brocaded bedding and silken cushions that were made freely available for his use.

At his silent invitation, Gwen settled herself at the table and accepted the glass of wine he placed in front of her, waiting until he'd taken a long sip of his own before prompting him again.

"What happened?"

He exhaled and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to bring it under some semblance of control. "I… it was decided it would be best if I remained behind to keep an eye on the city in Arthur's absence."

"But that doesn't make any sense. You're trained for this sort of combat, probably the best fighter he has. So why…?" and then she trailed off, looking at him in horrified disbelief. "Does he know?"

"No. There's no need to worry about that. It's just that I… it's hard to explain."

"Can you try? Please?"

Part of him didn't want to talk about it, still outraged by what had transpired that morning. The worst had been the obligation to stand in the courtyard and watch the troops ride out, feeling like a lesser man and a coward as his brothers in arms had called out their cheerful farewells. It didn't matter that it wasn't his choice to remain behind, nor that he would've loved nothing more than to be riding beside them. The fact that they'd be fighting while he would not was humiliating all the same, a brutal blow to his sense of self-worth. 

And for all that he couldn't escape it, it infuriated him to realize that his shame was exactly what Agravaine must've intended when he'd pushed Arthur into yet another decision that would've never happened without his influence.

But he couldn't deny her either, couldn't withhold the truth in response to such a simple request. Beyond that, she appeared genuinely confused, as if she didn't even have any suspicions as to why he'd been forbidden from taking part in the battle. That led him to believe she'd been told very little about the circumstances that had led up to it.

"What do you know about what's been happening?"

"Only that the conflict was unavoidable. That's all Arthur said – he wouldn't tell me anything else."

He let out a bitter laugh. "I wish I could say that was true."

"It isn't? Are you saying Arthur lied to me?"

"No, at least I don't think he did so deliberately. He's been misled himself. What happened… well, it wasn't like him at all."

"Tell me. Please."

And so he explained to the best of his ability, starting from the moment King Caerleon had been captured. It was hard to describe what had happened following his and Merlin's futile arguments, difficult to witness the expression of dawning horror on her face as he spoke. But he forced himself to continue nonetheless; she deserved the truth, to understand that Agravaine's growing influence over Arthur was a danger to them all, and that this unnecessary conflict would only be the beginning if the man were not exposed for what he truly was.

"I knew it," she whispered when he'd finished telling her about the friction between himself and Agravaine immediately following the execution. "Arthur would've _never_ done something like that without… and what he said to me, Agravaine must've been behind that as well. He didn't even sound like himself last night… he was like a stranger…"

"I know. What I saw was much the same. My folly was in speaking out against what happened. I shouldn't have."

"How can you say that?" Gwen looked indignant on his behalf. "What Arthur did was wrong, without question. Even if he refused to listen, how can you possibly find fault with yourself for pointing out that his actions were unjust?"

Lancelot sighed. "I don't. But making my objections known certainly didn't help matters. Agravaine now knows I disagree with the way he wishes to control the kingdom through Arthur, just as he realizes I'm not afraid to speak out against his policies. I've handed him a powerful weapon, one he has already used in an attempt to diminish my standing in Arthur's eyes."

"So that's why you're here. He convinced Arthur to leave you behind."

"Yes."

"To humble you, to shame you before the other knights and perhaps even Arthur himself?"

"I believe so."

"I'm sorry, Lancelot. It was unworthy of Arthur to agree to something like that when you'd done nothing to deserve it."

He gave her a meaningful look, reaching across the table to take her hand. "The same might be said for the way he treated you."

"I know. I… oh, this is such a mess. I've suspected all along that Agravaine couldn't be trusted, but I never thought it would go this far. What do you think he wants?"

Lancelot paused, considering the question as his thumb traced lazy circles on the back of her hand. "Power? Control? Perhaps revenge for some slight we're not even aware of? I don't know."

"I suppose the more important question is… what can we do to stop him?"


	88. Sweet Oblivion

#  **Chapter 88: Sweet Oblivion**

* * *

It would've been wonderful to have an answer to that question. Instead, they only stared at one another in silence, each acutely aware of their own limitations. It all came back to Arthur in the end. If he was determined to push them away at the first hint they objected to Agravaine's influence, what else could they do?

The future was uncertain, so tenuous that it was difficult not to fear the worst. Perhaps that was inevitable for anyone who felt as helpless as they did, like castoffs from a life that seemed to be disappearing before their eyes. And perhaps that was why it was so easy to set aside any question of right or wrong where their own feelings were concerned, to throw caution to the wind and cling to the only certainty they had left. After all, how could they know exactly what, if anything, was a betrayal under present circumstances? How could they begin to predict the expectations of a man who'd become a stranger to them both?

"Will… will you stay the night with me, Gwen?" Lancelot suddenly blurted, at a loss as to why he felt so nervous and awkward considering what had happened between them just the night before. Maybe it was because their present relationship was still so new, an unexpected gift he could hardly believe was real. Or it could very well be the constant fear that with one wrong step, she'd be lost to him all over again. No... he'd come too far to allow that to happen, to trust that he'd even survive it if it did.

"Here? Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"The army will not return for at least two days, and this part of the castle will be more or less deserted until then. This may be the only opportunity we have to… to be together. I do not know what will happen when Arthur returns."

There was an unspoken question in those words, but Lancelot knew it wasn't fair to ask or even imply it. Gwen was as lost as he was, if not more so, each having no choice but to take each day as it came. There were no answers to be had, no future to discuss when so many factors remained beyond their control… just this night to set all their uncertainties aside and find comfort in the only thing that made sense anymore.

Lancelot didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until she smiled, then rose to remove her wrap.

Their coming together was slower, more deliberate than it had been the previous night, both having overcome the anxiety that something would prevent their passion from reaching its inevitable conclusion. Years beyond counting had instilled that fear – too many separations, far too many aborted attempts to be together. But now…

Gwen's eyes shifted to the bed, then back to Lancelot's for only a second before she dropped her gaze, cheeks turning crimson in the soft candlelight. It was amazing that something so subtle could arouse him so much, but he felt himself grow hard, and then harder still when it became clear she'd noticed the heavy erection straining against the thin fabric of his trousers. Any nervousness on his part was entirely absent by the time he reached her side, embracing her from behind, then brushing her curls aside to press a lingering kiss against the sensitive spot just below her ear.

She sighed in contentment, leaning into him as she tilted her head to allow for easier access. "Mmmm…"

There were so many things he wanted to say, intimate thoughts that sounded right in his head, but wouldn't quite reach the tip of his tongue. Perhaps that was only because that part of him was completely occupied at the moment, tracing a path around the delicate contours of her ear as she shivered in his arms.

"I want you, Gwen…" he breathed, though that was the very least of what he wanted to tell her. "So much…"

Her only response was a shuddering moan, followed by a gasp as he pressed his hardness more firmly against her backside. Maddening… he was already aching for her, hardly able to restrain himself, and they'd only shared but a taste of the pleasure he hoped was yet to come. He slid his palms across the gentle contours of her stomach, then up to her breasts where his fingers plucked restlessly at the ties that held them captive. And then they were free, falling into his hands, so soft, round, and smooth… _perfect_. Already he longed to taste them, to tease her nipples into rigid points as he drew them into his mouth. Unfortunately, their current position wouldn't allow for that. Not yet.

And so he satisfied himself with her lips instead, warm and inviting, parting to release the sweetest whimper as he cupped her breasts, caressing, massaging, his thumbs tracing lazy patterns around the dusky circles and then rubbing the tips between his fingers as she moaned helplessly into his mouth. His hands slid lower, easing her dress over her hips and letting it fall to the floor.

And then he was the one who sucked in a sharp breath, captivated by the thrilling realization that she wasn't wearing any underclothes this time. Her body was completely bare, with the exception of the stockings that barely reached her thighs.

"Gwen…"

It hadn't seemed possible to be any harder than he already was until his hand slid between her legs to discover that she was every bit as aroused as he'd hoped she'd be, his fingers slipping inside her without even the slightest resistance. Entranced by her velvety softness, he could've taken her right then and there, only pausing long enough to free himself from his trousers before he laid her across the table or lowered her to the floor to make love on the heavy woolen rug beneath their feet.

But before he could act upon the impulse, she turned in his arms, tugging insistently at the hem of his shirt until he realized what she wanted and pulled it over his head, then tossed it away with a satisfied grunt. She was bolder tonight, pressing her lips against his bare skin as he breathed hard, running her hands across his chest and then peeking up at him almost shyly before her mouth closed around a flat nipple.

He closed his eyes with a low hum of approval, losing himself to the gentle pressure, the tentative flicks of her tongue that were an obvious imitation of how he'd pleasured her before. Whether it was his own sensitivity or merely the idea of her wanting to please him that aroused him so much, he couldn't say… just as he'd never know who'd guided them across the room as the backs of her knees hit the bed and she sank down upon the soft mattress. Her lips were on his stomach then, moving lower to explore the dark trail of hair beneath his navel. He panted heavily, helplessly, his erection straining against the confines of his trousers, begging to be released, to slide into her hot, lush mouth, and…

No, he was already too far gone to enjoy that particular pleasure without reaching his climax in a matter of minutes. His own satisfaction meant nothing next to hers, the driving need to hear her cries of abandon as her body writhed beneath his own. Just the _thought_ of what he wanted to do to her would surely drive him over the edge if he didn't bring himself under control.

"Wait," he said hoarsely, moving his hand to still the fingers that were pulling at the laces of his trousers.

"I'm sorry," Gwen said, snatching her hands away and looking distinctly embarrassed. "I just thought… I didn't mean to…"

Her innocent confusion brought him back to himself somewhat, prompting him to kneel on the floor and cradle her face between his hands. "Don't apologize. You did nothing wrong. Quite the opposite, in fact. I was enjoying myself so much that it would've... ended much sooner than I'd prefer."

"Oh," she said, appearing relieved and more than a little pleased as she let out a self-conscious laugh. And then she blushed again, so endearing that he had to kiss each cheek before returning to her mouth.

"Lie down," he whispered against her lips a few minutes later, then rose to remove his trousers as he watched her lean back and prop herself up on her elbows. There was more light than there'd been the previous evening – he was suddenly mesmerized by the vision before him, all smooth, tawny skin and gently rounded curves. Her hair was already in a hopeless tangle, spilling over her shoulders in a riotous mass of curls, dark eyes soft and liquid beneath long lashes as she gazed back at him without even a hint of shame. Did she have any idea how lovely she was in that moment, or that nothing more than the sight of her was enough to drive him out of his mind with wanting?

And then somehow, he found the words, spoken almost reverently as he stretched out beside her and reached up to touch her face.

"You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

She ducked her head shyly, which was no more than he'd expected, and he couldn't help but smile. It had been among his first impressions of her all those years before, one that had remained true despite having countless reasons to be much more prideful than she was. She was unfailingly modest, without a trace of vanity or conceit to speak of, and that made her beautiful in ways that so many other women could never hope to achieve.

How he loved her for that, and for countless other reasons besides. Everything she did, everything she'd ever said and thought and been was nothing short of his ideal, as if she'd been designed by the fates for him alone. And somehow he knew he'd never be able to get his fill of her, whether they were only granted this one night, or if by some miracle he had the rest of his life to devote to the attempt.

Before he knew it, he was kissing her again, hard and hungry, driven by a need that ran so much deeper than physical cravings alone. His hands were everywhere, and when he finally found the will to pull away from her lips, his mouth followed, lost to the valiant attempt to taste every inch of her sweet skin before the night was over. He took his time, for all that he was burning, aching, desperate to be inside her, memorizing her body and what pleased her the most through the sounds of whimpers, moans, and soft little cries.

He'd never forget the things he learned that night – that a hot gust of breath across a damp nipple would elicit a violent shudder, and that kisses along the insides of her thighs should be soft and slow for that first moment of contact to have the effect he desired. He'd know that she couldn't get enough of his tongue delving into that sweet place between her legs – fortunate, as he happened to agree with her.

She loved the taste of herself on his lips – he figured out that much through her murmur of approval when he finally moved up to lie beside her once more, just in time to swallow the soft, satisfied sounds that followed her release. 

It was the first; it would not be the last.

Following that, he discovered a few things about his own pleasure as well. He learned that she was unfailingly curious, not satisfied to simply lie back and enjoy his attentions if she wasn't permitted to return the favor. That much was made clear by her roaming hands, fluttering restlessly down his spine, over his hips and backside, running across the flat planes of his stomach, then very nearly moving lower before she remembered herself and brought them back to rest upon his shoulders.

"You can touch me," he whispered, but she hesitated, suddenly shy as she glanced down at his heavy erection.

"I… I'm not sure how."

He stretched out on his back and took her hand in his own, pressing it flat against his breastbone and sliding it down past his navel, gasping as his fingers showed hers how to wrap themselves around him, squeezing until her grip was firm and tight the way he liked it. Up and down, swift and steady, he taught her how to stroke him in a way that would surely make him explode if he didn't put an end to it soon. Just long enough to satisfy her curiosity, and then…

"Gwen… I need to be inside you. Now."

And then he was between her thighs, pushing into her, groaning her name as her warm softness closed around him. He wanted to take it slowly, to pace himself and make it last, but he couldn't restrain himself… not when her fingernails were already digging into his shoulders, breathless moans and gasps of pleasure driving him beyond the brink of all reason as her hips moved in time with his own furious rhythm. He hooked an arm behind her knee, pulling it up, spreading her wide as he thrusted, following the relentless need to bury himself deeper, deeper…

"I… I… Gwen, I can't… I need to…"

But he didn't have to hold back any longer; her walls were pulsing all around him, hands clinging to him as if he were the only thing standing between her and a freefall plummet. Her soft scream ricocheted off the walls, swiftly joined by his ragged shout as his body began to shudder, releasing wave after wave of white-hot pleasure deep inside her.

By the time it was over, Lancelot lay limp in Gwen's arms with his hips still cradled between her thighs, his face buried against the softness of her neck as he tried to catch his breath. Rational thought struggled to intrude upon his drowsy haze of satisfaction, a vague notion that he might be crushing her and should probably move... for all that seemed like it would be an enormous effort to do so. But when he tried, she only held him tighter, whispering, "Don't. Not yet."

Relieved, his eyes drifted closed as he breathed in the sweet smell of her hair. He could feel her heart beating steadily in time with his own, pressed together in perfect rhythm, and that was when he needed to say it… the one thing he wasn't sure if he'd never said enough or hadn't said at all.

"Gwen?"

"Hmmm?"

"I love you."

And somehow he could feel her smile, even though he couldn't see her face.

"I know."

"There's nothing I wouldn't do for you."

"I know."

"Gwen?"

"Go to sleep, Lancelot."

He was too drowsy to offer any protest, much too content to have done so in any case. Shifting just a little to free her from the bulk of his weight, he let the inviting darkness overtake him, lulled by the sound of her soft, even breathing as his fingers found and threaded themselves through hers.

He was nearly asleep when he felt her pushing the damp hair away from his forehead, and then the gentle kiss she placed there instead.

"Lancelot?"

"Mmmm…"

"I love you, too."

* * *

It was like a dream, one he was desperate to cling to for fear that it would soon melt away beneath the harsh, cold light of reality. He wanted to let her sleep – truly he did – but it was easy to put from his mind when he awoke fully aroused, his hardness pressed firmly against her bare backside. This was yet another way she suited him perfectly: back to chest, hips nestled against his, legs curved around his own as if they were both pieces of stone that had been shaped by some master carver to fit together seamlessly.

But stone bore no resemblance to her skin, soft and pliable against his own. His hand was already covering one breast, a gesture of possessiveness that had obviously happened when he hadn't even been awake enough to realize what he was doing. He was hardly there now, hadn't even opened his eyes and saw no pressing need to do so. There was only velvet warmth, the sweet fragrance of her hair and the gentle rise and fall of her chest, drawing attention to the tempting swell of flesh beneath his palm with every inhale. More by instinct than conscious choice, he began to caress her, his hands skimming over smooth curves as his hips moved against her in a slow, sensuous rhythm.

 _Let her sleep_ , he told himself again, his drowsy musings a tangle of rational thought and heady arousal. _She must be tired_.

But he continued, aching to bury himself inside her, driven by need and the ever-present reminder of how uncertain it was that he'd ever have such an opportunity again. How could he waste even a moment of their time together without fearing he'd live to regret it for the rest of his days?

And so he tried to decide upon the best way to rouse her, knowing he couldn't proceed much further without both her awareness and consent. But then she whimpered, the sudden change in her breathing making it clear that she was no longer oblivious to the movements of his body and the intention behind them. He held his breath, waiting for some sign as to whether he should stop or continue as he forced his hips to still.

"You're insatiable," she muttered in a thick, drowsy voice. But then she snuggled closer, humming her approval as he resumed his attentions, caressing her breasts, her stomach and thighs, opening his eyes for the first time as he lifted his head to kiss her shoulder, the side of her neck, the palm of her hand as she reached back to thread her fingers through his hair. Unwilling to wait any longer, he reached between their bodies to position himself, entering her from behind with one smooth thrust.

It was different in this position – slow and tender, almost leisurely as they slowly came awake amidst the softest of kisses and sleepy moans of pleasure. He found it easy to keep the pace at first, pushing into her gently and withdrawing without a hint of urgency, as if he had all the time in the world for this and this alone. 

But that was before he discovered what other delightful things he could do with her lying in front of him. One leg lifted and draped over his own, his fingers caressing the soft nest of curls between her thighs, then finding her most sensitive spot and rubbing it with his callused fingers until she cried out and fell apart in his arms. He managed it twice before he could do no more, brought to his own completion by a quick succession of mindless thrusts as she relaxed against his chest, already well and truly spent.

This time, however, there would be no blissful afterglow, no lazy kisses or soft sighs of contentment. Only a moment to catch his breath, followed by a horrifying realization… what he'd done not once, but twice, something so natural and yet foolish beyond comprehension.

Even now he was still inside her, his erection softening in the aftermath of spilling his seed deep within her body. He withdrew abruptly, although it was far too late to hope it would make a difference. What if he'd gotten her with child? Just thinking of the repercussions made him seize up in panic, visibly shaking as he sat up and buried his head in his hands. There would be no way to hide it, no hope of excusing it away if her belly began to swell. And Arthur would be the first to understand the betrayal it signified, having never lain with her as Lancelot had done. 

Worst of all was the timing… even if Arthur was fool enough not to try and resume their relationship, it would be natural to assume she'd come to be in such a condition while they'd still been together. She'd be shamed, ostracized, and all because Lancelot had been too self absorbed to think of her protection while lost in his own pleasure.

How could he even begin to apologize for what he'd done, or explain that it was quite possible he'd ruined everything for her? She was still so innocent; did she even realize…?

"Lancelot, what is it? What's wrong?"

"Gwen, I…"

But he never had the chance to make his confession, only to see her staring back at him in shock as they were interrupted by loud, urgent rapping on the door.


	89. The King's Return

#  **Chapter 89: The King's Return**

* * *

"The wardrobe!" Lancelot whispered urgently, and Gwen scrambled out of bed, scooping up her discarded clothing as she rushed to conceal herself. Lancelot shot an anxious glance over his shoulder to make sure she was hidden, then swallowed hard and opened the door.

"Sir Lancelot! I… ah…" the guard trailed off, trying to avoid glancing down at the thin sheet wrapped around his waist. "Forgive me for disturbing you while you're… indisposed, but…"

"It's quite all right," he responded, relieved to sound much calmer than he felt at that moment. His heart was beating furiously; all he wanted was for the man to be quick about his report and leave so he could decide upon the best way to smuggle Gwen out of his chamber without being seen. 

Without any windows to speak of, the interior of the room was still dim, but a glance out into the corridor told him that it must be at least midday. A couple of serving girls passed, giving his barely clad physique a wide-eyed appraisal before hurrying away, covering their mouths to suppress their giggles.

 _So much for this part of the castle being deserted_ , he thought to himself, adding another foolish mistake to his swiftly growing list.

"Sir Lancelot," the guard said in a formal voice, apparently having recovered from his initial discomfort. "You are wanted in the Council Chamber. There is news from the front."

"Of course. Thank you. Allow me to dress and I'll be there as quickly as I can."

The guard nodded respectfully, then hurried away. Lancelot closed the door behind him with a sigh of relief.

"Gwen?" he said in a cautious whisper.

The doors to the wardrobe opened and there she was, fully dressed with her hair arranged in some vague semblance of its normal appearance.

"I have to get you out of here. It isn't safe, I…"

To his surprise, she just smiled, retrieving an object from the corner of his room and wandering leisurely back to the wardrobe, plucking out several items of clothing and dropping them into the basket. Propping it on one hip, she rose on her tiptoes to kiss his stubbled jaw.

"I'm a servant, Lancelot. No one could possibly take exception to me doing my job," she said airily, then glanced at the sheet wrapped around his waist. "Besides, It's hardly _my_ fault that you've completely run out of things to wear, when you so rarely allow anyone else to assist you with your laundry."

And then she grinned at him, turning on her heel and opening the door without a trace of hesitation. One last, mischievous look and she was gone, leaving him standing there speechless in her wake.

* * *

Gwen chuckled to herself as she walked through the lower town, recalling the shocked expression on Lancelot's face when she'd decided to take matters into her own hands. Despite having made every effort to allow her to control the course of their relationship as of late, there was definitely one thing that hadn't changed. The man thought it was his responsibility to take care of _everything_ , leading her to wonder how he thought she'd managed without him during all his years away from Camelot.

In the end, she was capable of figuring most things out for herself, whether he realized it yet or not. Not that she didn't appreciate his protective nature, of course… set a group of bloodthirsty bandits or a terrifying beast against her and she'd be happy to have him pick up his sword in her defense. But she had her own strengths, too, starting with sound judgment and a keen mind. She'd been taking care of herself for many years now, and saw no reason why she should suddenly start depending on him when it came to her overall well-being. She wasn't a child, after all.

With that thought in mind, her feet turned down a familiar path, one that led to a tiny, ramshackle building she hadn't visited for many years. She wondered at first if the old woman would still be there; after all, she'd been positively ancient when Uther had been in his prime. But there she was, more hideous than ever as she cackled at Gwen's whispered request, then handed over two small vials of potion.

"King must be on his way home," she said with a lecherous wink.

"No… I mean, yes, of course," Gwen stammered. "But it's not for me."

"Never is, dear! Never is."

A short time later, she'd downed the foul tasting contraceptive, then freshened up and changed. Soon enough, she was on her way back to the palace, eager for news as to how Arthur and the knights had fared. Her own brother was among them, after all, and although there was a great deal of distance between herself and Elyan these days, she was anxious to hear that he'd be returning safely, along with Percival and Gwaine, Sir Leon and of course, Arthur and Merlin. The thought of losing any of them was painful beyond comprehension, and she couldn't help feeling a little guilty for being so wrapped up in Lancelot the night before that she hadn't thought of them at all past a certain point in the evening.

No one raised an eyebrow when she slipped into the Council Chamber, accustomed to her frequent presence over the years. She made a show of dusting the sconces on the walls as she listened to the conversation, feeling Lancelot's eyes on her back as they followed her around the room. He was sitting at the head of the long table, still unshaven and noticeably weary as he delivered a series of orders to the small collection of guards, servants, and stable hands.

"Thankfully, there were no casualties, so provisions to feed the entire army should be made ready by noon tomorrow. We must be grateful to our king for his wise decision to engage in one-on-one combat, as well as his mercy in sparing the life of the champion he defeated. Such honorable conduct prevented much bloodshed and gained a powerful new ally on Camelot's behalf."

Gwen smiled to herself, both in relief and upon the realization that Lancelot had included the additional details for her benefit. Lost in thought, she absently listened to the sound of his deep, rich voice as he assigned the guards to their daily patrols and ordered extra hay and feed to be delivered to the stables by the following morning.

So Arthur had triumphed after all, dispensing of Agravaine's advice and choosing his own much more honorable solution instead. That was encouraging… not as comforting as it would've been to learn that he'd completely disassociated himself with the man, of course, but it was a start. Suddenly, she felt better about the future than she had in quite some time, particularly since she chose not to think about the other implications that might be involved in Arthur's sudden change of heart. Just for a while, she simply wanted to enjoy the relief of knowing that Camelot was safe once more, far from being on the brink of catastrophe as she'd feared.

"Guinevere?"

She jumped, having never expected Lancelot to directly address her while in a room full of people. With a respectful nod and her eyes carefully lowered, she faced him, waiting for him to continue.

"I understand that your skills as a seamstress are without equal. I have some mending that I'd like you to attend to. Also, I'm afraid my quarters need a thorough cleaning. Normally I prefer to attend to these matters myself, but I'm afraid I haven't had time as of late."

"Of course," she mumbled, struggling to hide her amusement. "When would you like me to see to these duties?"

"Following the evening meal. I apologize if this obligates you to work later than usual, but I cannot…" he trailed off, looking a little panicked.

"Cannot imagine I'll be finished with the assignment you gave me yesterday before then?" she interjected smoothly, much to his obvious relief. "I'll do my best, but I'm sure you're correct."

She felt rather than saw his nod of agreement, afraid to look at him again for fear she'd burst out laughing. "Yes," he said a little stiffly, in what was clearly a poor attempt to contain his own mirth. "Please report to my chambers when you're finished with the… the laundry detail. Yes. You are dismissed."

She managed to make it safely out into the corridor before dissolving into a fit of giggles.

* * *

"Where would you like me to start, Sir Lancelot?" Gwen said brightly, a dusting cloth clutched tightly in one hand as she swept into the chamber. "Shall I scrub the floors first, or would you prefer me to change the linens?"

He shook his head, then drew her into his arms as soon as the door clicked into place behind her. "Don't be absurd."

"Well, if you have no duties for me, I should really go see if I'm needed elsewhere. It's going to be a busy day tomorrow, and there's still so much left to do." She took a step backward, making a show of heading for the door, only for him to catch her around the waist and pull her back against his chest.

"You're needed right here," he whispered against her ear, making her shiver. "And your first and only duty is to kiss me."

She submitted gladly, wrapping her arms around his neck as he dipped his head to give her better access. He'd bathed recently, judging by his slightly damp hair and clean-shaven jaw, and the warm, mossy scent of the soap he'd used was temptation enough to pull away from his lips for a moment, burying her face in his chest and breathing him in with a sigh of appreciation. Already, she wanted him… had been able to think of little else since she'd last seen him in the Council Chamber earlier that afternoon. 

Everything was destined to change tomorrow, forced to return to the normal behaviors and routines that would inevitably keep them apart far more often than not. But tonight… just a few more precious hours to get their fill of one another, hopefully enough to hold them over while they waited to see how the coming days would play out. She was eager to get started, pressing against him shamelessly as her hands slid under his shirt to caress the smooth muscles of his back. His erection fairly throbbed against her lower belly, hard and thick even through the layers of fabric between them, and she instantly recognized the open yearning in his deep, dark eyes, knowing they must mirror her own.

So she was more than a little surprised when he abruptly pulled away, taking a deep breath in an obvious attempt to bring his desire under control.

"Gwen," he said after a moment, while she stood staring at him in confusion. "We… we can't do this."

She wasn't prepared for the rush of disappointment, the lump in her throat she couldn't quite swallow. There was another emotion beneath that, too; the first faint twinges of hurt. But there was no logic in that – to allow it to rise to the surface would be to entertain the notion that she'd somehow done something wrong, when she knew for a fact she had not. Was he fearful of discovery, perhaps? Or maybe it was that Arthur was returning on the morrow and he wasn't quite sure how to reconcile himself with that? She wasn't either, in truth, but she certainly didn't consider that enough reason to throw away the only opportunity they might have to be together in the foreseeable future.

"I don't understand."

He sank down on the edge of the bed, looking up at her with so much guilt in his eyes that she was genuinely alarmed at first.

"I have been thoughtless," he started in a voice that was so soft it was almost a whisper. "I didn't stop to think about the risk involved, what I might be doing when I…"

So it _was_ about Arthur, just as she'd suspected. Sighing heavily, she sat down beside him and took one of his hands in her own, entwining her fingers with his. He didn't attempt to pull away.

"You know what happened between me and Arthur. Regardless of how he might feel when he returns, as of now, I am a free woman. That was _his_ decision, and I will not be faulted for the consequences of that choice. And while it's not a good idea for him to know about this right now…"

Lancelot shook his head. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what is it? Because I don't see what else…"

"I…" he trailed off, then swallowed hard and forced himself to continue in a rush. "There are no words to apologize for what I've done, but if the worst has happened… if I've gotten you with… with child, I want you to know I will not forsake you. I'll take you away from here before it becomes obvious, and I'll do everything in my power to make sure you are safe and happy, that you have everything you need. I mean it, Gwen, I…"

And then he stopped, staring at her in disbelief as she burst out laughing.

"I fail to see how this is the least bit amusing…"

Gwen wiped the tears from her eyes, struggling to bring herself under control. Glancing at his expression, a peculiar combination of determination, remorse, and swiftly growing bewilderment didn't help – she was completely out of breath by the time her laughter subsided.

"Oh, Lancelot… you have nothing to worry about."

He frowned. "How can you say that after what happened? I… I… do you even know what I did?"

For all that he showed no restraint while engaged in the act itself, it amused her to no end to realize he was still too proper to speak frankly of those things at any other time. It wasn't exactly easy for her either, in truth, but it was worth it just to see the shocked expression on his face.

"I'm assuming you're referring to releasing yourself inside me rather than making a mess on the floor. As I said, that's no cause for worry."

She'd never have thought it possible for Lancelot to actually blush, but he did, his cheeks flaming as he struggled to respond. "You… I… do you know how children are made?"

That prompted another howl of laughter, followed by an even more difficult struggle to compose herself when she realized the question was perfectly sincere. Shaking her head at the cluelessness of men, she finally took pity on him. "Of course I know. I'm not a child, and I don't intend on having one either… at least, not anytime soon. There's a potion Morgana used to use that worked very well for her. It prevents any risk as long as it's taken the next day."

Lancelot looked cautiously hopeful. "You're certain?"

"Yes."

"Where must I go to procure it for you?"

She shook her head in exasperation. Always the caretaker, down to a fault. And she loved him it, really, but hoped he'd eventually learn that she also had a vested interest in her own well-being and not put so much pressure on himself. Really, as amusing as it was in this case, it was taking up precious time that would be much better spent on more pleasant things.

"I already took care of it."

"You did?"

"You don't have to look so surprised, Lancelot. Yes, I did, earlier this afternoon. And I'll continue to do so whenever... the need should arise."

His breath came out in whoosh, as if he'd been holding it in for hours. "I… well, that is a relief. But is there nothing I can do? You must at least allow me to pay for it."

She smiled, taking his hand in hers once more. "Fair enough."

* * *

Despite the awkwardness involved in discussing their intimacies in practical terms, it didn't take long for them to resume what they'd been doing before Lancelot's guilty conscience had brought it to a screeching halt. The first time they made love that night was fast and furious, leaving little time for preliminaries before coming together with a mad succession of driving thrusts and grasping hands, sweat slickened flesh and strangled cries of passion.

The second time was slower, more tender, following the first real opportunity they'd had to simply lie in each other's arms and whisper to one another in the darkness, sharing the secrets that only lovers tell. It would've been easy to fall asleep after that, each warm and sated in the other's embrace, but they fought the temptation, neither wishing to close their eyes only to open them to the awful realization that the moment of parting was upon them.

Finally, as the first soft light of dawn spilled over the horizon beyond the castle walls and a tired, yet triumphant young king was riding steadily for home, they came together for a final time. Lancelot lay on his back with her slumped against his chest, both weary beyond comprehension yet desperate to be as close as possible just once more before the dream would have to end.

Gwen closed her eyes and buried her face against his neck, strong arms enfolding her while his hands guided her hips in time with the gentle rocking motion of his own. She barely moved, despite the fact that being on top of him made her feel as if she should do so. Too tired, too sorrowful and resigned and just needing to feel him inside her for a little longer with no thought for anything else. Well, she'd make it up to him later, if given the chance.

This time had little to do with the urgent need for release that had brought an end to their earlier couplings; nonetheless, Lancelot reached his with a soft grunt of pleasure, while she found hers in the tears that dampened his neck upon the realization that it was over. He never knew; she made sure of that by keeping her face averted as she rose and dressed. Only after she'd paused at the washstand long enough to splash cold water on her face did she return to him for one last kiss.

The corridor outside was deserted as harsh morning light poured through the numerous windows, a shock to her senses following the warm, comforting darkness of Lancelot's quarters. But there was nothing to be done about it. Just a couple hours at home to freshen up and take a quick nap, and then it was back to work… and to reality.

But then as she passed into a more heavily inhabited part of the palace, she overheard the news: Arthur and the knights would be arriving sooner than expected, and all hands were needed to prepare for their return. Resigned to her exhaustion, she yawned hugely as she changed direction, stopping to retrieve a bucket and scrub brush on her way to the Council Chamber.

It was going to be a long day.


	90. Crossroads

#  **Chapter 90: Crossroads**

* * *

"Gwen!"

Exhausted or not, it was impossible not to smile as she turned to find Merlin hurrying in her direction with a huge grin on his face. But her mood plummeted as soon as he reached her side and she realized why he'd been looking for her.

"Arthur wants to see you!"

"I… uh, I have a pail of water heating downstairs, and I won't get home before midnight if I don't start on the laundry soon. I've also got to…"

Merlin gave her what he must've believed was a knowing look. "I don't blame you for being afraid to see him after what he said to you. But it isn't like that, Gwen. Not this time. He's… well, I know he wants to apologize."

"What makes him think I want to hear it?" she said, although the words came out much more harsh than she'd intended. She wasn't really angry with Arthur, felt she had little right to be considering what she'd been doing in his absence. But all the same, she could already predict what would happen if she answered his summons, and it irked her. Another awkward apology, another flimsy excuse and that would be the end of it, at least in his mind. He'd expect her to just fall into his arms as she had so many times in the past, without ever having to deal with the consequences of his actions.

Meanwhile, Merlin was staring at her in shock, as if it had never occurred to him that she wouldn't be eager to reconcile at the first hint it might be possible to do so. Honestly, she felt a little insulted.

"Gwen, I know you're hurt, but…"

"I'm not hurt," she said automatically, then sighed. "Well, yes, I suppose I am. What he said to me was uncalled for. But it's not… I mean, I don't…"

"You don't have to explain. Anyone who looks at you can see it."

She frowned. "See what?"

"That you've been taking it really hard. Just look at you… I'm not saying you look _bad_ or anything, but it's obvious you haven't been sleeping much."

It was an unfortunate choice of words – Gwen swallowed the hysterical laughter that bubbled up in her throat, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor so Merlin's earnest expression wouldn't send her over the edge. Indeed, she'd been taking _something_ hard lately, but it _definitely_ wasn't what he was thinking.

That was another reason she wasn't ready to see Arthur yet. The memories were still so fresh, erotic thoughts and images coming to her from out of nowhere while she was doing something as mundane as cleaning the windows or putting fresh linens on the beds. Well, maybe the latter was understandable, but she still didn't want to take the risk of facing Arthur only for some vivid recollection to surface in her mind – Lancelot's dark head buried between her thighs, perhaps, or his expression of slack-jawed ecstasy as he released himself inside her.

No… she'd been able to maintain her sanity so far by keeping the two parts of her life as separate as possible. It wasn't something she'd be able to do forever, of course, especially if Arthur were intent on trying to rekindle their relationship. But couldn't she put it off for just a little longer?

"I… I'm sure he must be tired. Can it wait until tomorrow? I have so much to do, and…"

Merlin's hand closed around her elbow, gently steering her into the closest unoccupied chamber. She went along without protest, though part of her was tempted to pull away and run in the opposite direction without looking back. She wasn't ready to deal with this, not so soon. And anyway, why was Merlin so involved in the first place?

Stupid question. Hadn't it always been this way? And how had she been able to overlook his constant interference before, when it now seemed both unwelcome and more than a little intrusive?

Maybe it was because in the past, she and Merlin had dreamed of the same happy future, one in which she'd someday become Arthur's queen. Truthfully, that had necessitated ignoring any number of things that had never been quite right.

"Gwen, I understand how you feel," he said once the door was closed behind them. "I do. You have a right to be hurt, to feel angry over what he said to you. Who knows? It might even be a good thing to let him sit on it for a while if it ever happens again. But you can't do that right now. Arthur… he _needs_ you. Much more than he realizes, though I think he's beginning to understand."

Always about Arthur's needs above all else. But what could she say? Merlin's entire existence revolved around the man in question, far more than her own ever had. He took loyalty to the extreme, so much that it seemed there was nothing Arthur could do that would change his feelings or drive him away. Why? It seemed strange all of a sudden, perhaps in part because she'd never given the matter much thought until that moment.

Merlin had clearly mistaken her prolonged silence for indecision as he continued to argue the point.

"You must've seen it, too, Gwen. He wasn't himself. Deep down, you _have_ to know that. And what I saw before he came to his senses was frightening. When I think about what could've happened…"

"I know," she said quietly.

"What could _still_ happen if…"

She let out a sigh, already resigned to the difficult choice that was coming sooner rather than later as she'd hoped. "If he continues to take Agravaine's advice."

"How did you know?" Merlin said, staring back at her in surprise.

"Please, Merlin. I'm not stupid. Besides, everything about Agravaine makes it obvious that he doesn't exactly have the best interests of the kingdom at heart. What baffles me is why everyone else can't see it, too, especially Arthur himself."

Merlin nodded vigorously, his eyes bright with excitement. "See? That's why you have to forgive him. You _have_ to, Gwen! He'll listen to you; he always has! I know he'll see through Agravaine before it's too late if you can just… well, I'm not sure, but you've always had a way of getting through to him when no one else can. Besides, you love him. Isn't that worth setting aside any hard feelings, especially when you know he wasn't even himself when he did what he did?"

 _Yes_. She didn't want it to be, but it was. The love she felt for Arthur might be of a different sort, far removed from the haze of desperate longing that had kept her so preoccupied as of late, but it was there nonetheless. How could she turn her back on him when he was obviously trying to make amends for his mistakes? Shouldn't she at least give him the courtesy of hearing what he had to say?

"All right," she sighed. "I'll see him. Of course I will."

"I knew you'd say that."

* * *

"Guinevere," Arthur said quietly as she was ushered into his chamber, immediately followed by, "Thank you, Merlin. You may go."

Suddenly, she began to panic, wishing she could beg Merlin to stay despite any recent annoyance she might have felt over his excessive involvement. But the door closed behind him, leaving her no choice but to turn and face the man who was waiting beside the bed.

It was his eyes that hurt her the most, open and honest, gazing back at her steadily as he held out a bedraggled bouquet of flowers. Well, they were weeds to be more specific, but he couldn't be expected to know that.

And then an onslaught of feelings came back to her, all the reasons she'd ever had for giving him any number of second chances and excusing his behavior when no one else would've earned that privilege. Despite having already faced more danger than most men would in a lifetime, the fact remained that Arthur had led an unusually sheltered existence under the careful tutelage of his father. How much could be blamed on his own willful ignorance in light of that, as opposed to factors that were beyond his control?

Her inability to answer that question in any definitive terms was what had led her to become involved with him in the first place, convinced of the limitless potential buried somewhere deep inside. Love him, show him, teach him he can be a better man, and who knows what he might be capable of in the future?

"Thank you," she whispered, hesitating and then accepting the flowers. "You didn't have to do this."

"Yes, I did. And in case you're wondering, I picked them myself this time."

Well, she'd already known that much. Merlin would've had more sense than to choose a nuisance of a plant that was only useful as part of an ointment that was used in the treatment of skin rashes. Unable to help herself, she smiled.

Taking her expression as a sign of encouragement, he cleared his throat and stepped closer. "Guinevere, I wanted to apologize. You were right, and I was a fool not to listen to you. When it comes to matters of the heart, a good king should trust his own instincts above the advice of others, even when he knows they have the best of intentions."

"Arthur…"

But this was not the time to point out his enormous folly in thinking so well of Agravaine, not when everything between them was still so tenuous. No, this was about something so much bigger than that, the awful realization that she must now choose one of two paths to follow, with no option of turning back now that she stood at the threshold of the uncertain future that yawned before them all.

She could still choose passion over duty, embracing her heart's desire rather than the well-being of this man and the kingdom he was struggling to rule. All she had to say was that she'd come to agree with Agravaine's counsel, or simply that she wasn't willing to forgive him for what he'd done. The ease with which she could sever their relationship was almost frightening – he'd fought a battle of wills to set aside what he believed to be well intended advice, and at least some of that must've been influenced by her own opinions on the subject.

Just one little push in the other direction, and…

But she couldn't do it, could never allow Agravaine to triumph so easily. More than that, she _refused_ to be responsible for reinforcing the one thing she _never_ wanted Arthur to believe – that relationships between royalty and commoners were outside the realm of possibility. And whatever excuse she gave, no matter how solid and specific to her alone the reasoning might be, the end result would be the same if she did it while he remained in such a vulnerable position.

In the end, it wasn't a choice. It was a trap, each of them pawns in a sinister game where the only hope of survival lay in the fragile threads of control that still rested in their hands. For Gwen, those were the strings that wrapped around Arthur's heart, binding him to her in the only way that Agravaine could never hope to compete with. How could she relinquish that power, leaving him alone to struggle against the machinations that had already threatened the freedom, the safety, the very existence of them all?

And so she whispered words of forgiveness, platitudes that broke her heart even as he laughed in quiet joy and wrapped his arms around her waist. He didn't deserve this, should've been with a woman for no other reason than he was her one and only choice. But then again, perhaps the same was true for her. Just as Lancelot would always come first in her heart, so the kingdom would forever be prioritized in Arthur's mind above whatever love he felt for her. They weren't so different, really, excepting the fact that Arthur could claim both as he pleased, while she was probably beyond the option of choosing one over the other without being branded a traitor in doing so.

Oblivious to her silent distress as they exchanged their farewells in the open doorway, Arthur kissed her, his lips soft and sweet as they brushed across hers. It evoked none of the heady desire she felt with Lancelot, only a flurry of bittersweet memories that made her want to weep for everything that had already been lost and all that was yet to come. 

There'd once been a time when she could've been happy with Arthur, convinced that all other doors were closed to her forever. Unaware of the extent of her own passion, she might have been satisfied with what he could offer, a life of comfortable companionship and gentle affection. But it was too late now, far too late to pretend that could ever be enough after discovering pleasure beyond imagining in another man's arms.

Meanwhile, the man in question had appeared at the other end of the corridor, standing there frozen as she patiently submitted to one final kiss and then disentangled herself from Arthur's embrace, glancing in his direction as she did so. The suffering in his eyes was almost palpable, making her heart plummet to her feet as he turned and hurried away.

Of course, Arthur hadn't noticed his presence… just as he'd always failed to see so many things that were right before his eyes.

* * *

_I have no right to feel this way._

The training dummy was taking a beating this morning, rocking back and forth beneath the savage blows that had been coming in quick succession for at least the past half hour.

 _The choice was hers. I knew that all along_.

Sweat was running into his eyes, already red and swollen from another sleepless night. But he didn't stop, not even when he could barely see the target right in front of him. He needed to keep moving… to drive away the jealousy, the frustration, the terrible pain of seeing Gwen in another man's arms. And all the while, he hated feeling this way, despised the petty, insidious thoughts that plagued his mind no matter how much he tried to ignore them. What had they been doing in Arthur's chamber? What he'd seen had been excruciating enough – what more was there that he didn't know about?

Gwen had been untouched the first night he'd made love to her, a discovery that had thrilled him much more than it should have, perhaps. There might be some comfort to be found in that even now, for it suggested the relationship between she and Arthur had never been particularly physical. But that led to the question of why. Arthur's sense of honor? Or maybe Gwen had simply been more hesitant within the confines of a secure relationship, knowing there was no need to rush such things?

But if the latter were true, would she continue to hold back now that she was well aware of all the pleasure to be found in such an act? She was certainly eager, curious, not timid at all when it came to her own arousal. And he loved her for all those things, of course, but what if… well, wouldn't it only be natural for her to wonder what it would feel like with Arthur, a man she obviously had feelings for as well? If so, there was little to stop them – even if Arthur had some crisis of conscience over the matter, Lancelot couldn't imagine any sense of resolve that wouldn't melt away to nothing for any man lucky enough to find a willing Gwen in his arms. Too beautiful, too warm and soft, far too responsive to even the slightest stimulation. He'd be lost, just as Lancelot had been.

He didn't want to picture what he did right then, hated his treacherous mind for presenting him with even the briefest flash of Arthur moving between Gwen's thighs as she cried out his name in ecstasy. No, he had no right… whatever she needed, whatever made her happy, that was exactly what he should want for her. But he couldn't, not now… not when the thought of her being with anyone else made him want to fall to his knees and retch in the dirt.

Clearly, he was far less noble than he'd once believed himself to be. And honestly, he couldn't bring himself to give a damn.

"Whoa! What'd that dummy ever do to you?"

Lancelot lifted the hem of his shirt and wiped his eyes, squinting just a little as Gwaine's blurry features gradually came into focus. He looked concerned, which was no surprise when Lancelot looked down to see the chunks of splintered wood that were scattered all over the ground. Dull and battered, his sword would require hours of work with the sharpening stone if it was to be salvaged at all.

"I…"

Gwaine shook his head, placing a supportive hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry about it. I can see you're not well, my friend. When was the last time you slept? Have you eaten?"

"No. I don't… I'm not sure…"

"Thought as much. Come on."

* * *

Lancelot hadn't even realized he was hungry until Gwaine appeared in the doorway of his quarters holding two plates of roasted beef and vegetables, bowing slightly with a triumphant grin.

"Right out from under their noses! I'll be paying for it later, no doubt, but they'll have to catch me first."

"Thank you," Lancelot said softly when the fuller of the plates was set in front of him, feeling almost faint as the aroma of perfectly cooked meat invaded his senses.

When had he last eaten? It was disturbing that he could hardly remember, though he was fairly certain he'd had something at the midday meal the day before. No… that had been when the troops had ridden through the gates of the city, followed by a flurry of activity that had kept him completely occupied until early evening. He'd bypassed supper in favor of a short nap, and of course, what he'd seen later in the night had completely put him off of any thought of breakfast this morning.

Good lord… he hadn't eaten in nearly two days. It was hardly any wonder he wasn't feeling like himself.

"Here, have some of mine," Gwaine commented, spooning another heap of vegetables on his plate as soon as he'd finished the first.

"No, please, I don't want to take…"

"Swiped some apples earlier and I'll be back for those tarts that were just going in the oven as soon as they're finished. Don't worry, I'm not going to starve. Here, take another slice of this. Little bit of gravy, too."

"Thank you. This is very kind."

Gwaine shrugged, obviously a bit flustered by the sincerity in his voice. "We look out for one another," he said carelessly. "Hasn't that always been the way of it?"

* * *

Lancelot was feeling almost normal by the time he took his seat for the evening meal, filling his plate from the steaming platters that were spread out over the table. After making sure he was fed and even ordering a bath on his behalf, Gwaine had insisted he catch up on some much needed rest, promising to make his excuses to Arthur. He'd slept deeply for nearly nine hours after that, far too exhausted to be troubled by any unpleasant dreams. Yes, he was better now, enough like himself to smile and laugh with his companions as they drank and feasted in celebration of Arthur's triumph.

It was Gwen who served their wine, obligating him to act like he wasn't staring at the swell of her breasts as they strained against the confines of her corset whenever she leaned over to pour, and then to pretend he didn't notice the gentle swaying of her hips as she moved between the tables. After a while, she was standing at his elbow, so close he was able to breathe in the sweet fragrance of her hair. Carefully avoiding his eyes, she quickly moved away; it wasn't until she was gone that he looked down to find she'd dropped a tiny bit of folded parchment in his lap.

He forced himself to wait until he'd returned to his own quarters to read it, far removed from any prying eyes. The message inside was brief, yet thrilled him all the same:

_There's a storage room beneath the second stairwell on the first floor._   
_Meet me there at midnight if it's safe for you to do so._


	91. Matters of Necessity

#  **Chapter 91: Matters of Necessity**

* * *

Although the first floor was by no means deserted, there were rarely any guards posted near the second stairwell, especially late at night. It wasn't an area that needed vigilant patrol, since there was nothing there aside from a couple of small guest chambers that were hardly ever used, and the narrow door Lancelot slipped through, carefully dropping the latch in place behind him.

The tiny storage room was nearly empty – just a few scattered crates and a pile of linens that appeared to be clean, though too worn to be of any use in a castle that took special pride in its finery. Other than that, there was a single chair off to one side and a bright, flickering candle nestled in a sconce on the wall, casting its soft illumination on Gwen's face as she watched him from her position by the back wall. 

"You must be angry," she said after a moment.

"What?" he frowned. "I could never be angry with you. Why would you think that?"

"Arthur."

The word hung between them like a barrier, so loaded with contradicting thoughts, feelings, and intentions that it almost seemed tangible. Lancelot wished it was… that he could reach out and push it aside, then take her in his arms and pretend that all was right with the world. But of course, that wasn't possible. Not anymore.

"I'm not angry," he finally repeated, at a loss for anything else to say.

"But you deserve an explanation."

"No."

Gwen stared at him in silence, and he couldn't decide whether she only looked confused or had somehow been hurt by his response. Why was this so difficult? Whatever she'd decided, all he wanted to do was accept her choice and leave her with a clean conscience, no matter how much it hurt. But what could he say without making matters worse as he suspected he was doing?

"I only care that you're happy," he finally said. "If this is what you want, I don't see why you should have to justify it to me."

Her voice came out as a hollow whisper. "You think this is what I want? Arthur? I… what do you think I've been doing with you for the past few days? Do you think that meant nothing to me?"

"No, of course not, but I can understand if you've changed your mind. You made no promises to me, Gwen. How could I possibly fault you for trying to do what you feel is best for yourself?"

In response, she started to cry.

"Gwen, don't… please, I… I'm saying all the wrong things. It's fine, really it is. Whatever you need, I will accept that. Just don't cry, please…"

But the onslaught of flustered words only made her sob harder, helpless, pitiful sounds that tore at his heart as she hid her face in her hands. He didn't want to risk saying anything else, not if this was the result, and so he did the only other thing that made any sense.

She didn't resist when he pulled her into his arms, and then she was clinging to his shoulders, burying her face in his chest as she wept. When any other attempts to comfort her elicited no response, it occurred to him that perhaps she just needed to cry until she was spent, for all that his instincts were screaming at him to do anything he could to stop it. And so he waited, distressed but patient, rubbing her back in soothing circles as he tried to figure out what had prompted such an outburst.

Unfortunately, he didn't have a clue.

He sat down in the lone chair, cradling her in his lap as the heartbreaking sobs gradually faded away, soon replaced by only an occasional sniffle against the damp fabric of his shirt. After a few more minutes, he heard her swallow hard, as if trying to bring herself under control.

"I… I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice muffled and shaky. "I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for," he said gently. "Nothing. That's all I was trying to tell you. I didn't mean to make you cry."

"No, you didn't. It isn't you... or at least not anything you said." She paused to release a shuddering sigh. "I just wish it wasn't so complicated. If it was a simple matter of you or Arthur, there'd be no question as to who I would choose."

He held his breath, hardly daring to hope. "Are you saying that choice would be… me?"

"Yes," she said matter-of-factly. "Of course."

"You'd give up everything… all he could offer you… a chance to be queen…"

She sniffed loudly, then straightened up and gave him a watery smile. "There's a lot you don't know about my relationship with Arthur. The first thing is that it's always been about what I can do for him, not the other way around."

"It has?"

"Yes. I've been around royalty my entire life, Lancelot. I've seen enough to know that riches or privilege or power are not the key to happiness. I could've told you that years ago if you'd given me the chance."

"I was a fool."

"Without question."

But to his relief, there was no lingering resentment in those words; even as she spoke them, she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead and then buried her face against the curve of his neck.

"And yet you love him," he pointed out, as much as it pained him to say it aloud. "That's got to count for something."

"I do, just not the way you think. Not the way he loves me, or that I love you. When he first showed interest in me, I admit I lost my head a little. There I was, just a servant, and the Prince of Camelot had chosen me above anyone else. But that wasn't love. My feelings changed when I saw the goodness in him and realized how much he needed me, that he would listen to my advice and try to become a better man based on the things I said. How could I turn away from that, when he was the one person who had the power to change everything for good or for ill? Romantic inclination seemed irrelevant in the face of that, I… does that make sense at all?"

"The knighthood."

"What?"

Lancelot smiled. "Committing yourself in service to another, believing in honor and justice… willing to make whatever sacrifices are necessary for the sake of the greater good. How could I not understand, when it is much the same as the life I've always tried to live?"

She looked him thoughtfully, then smiled. "I guess we aren't so very different."

"I never believed we were."

Part of him was thrilled. If what she felt for Arthur was not a passionate love, that alone was almost enough to make him believe it didn't matter… that perhaps he could share her indefinitely and not be left wanting for anything more. But then he remembered the secrecy, the silence, the stolen moments that would never leave them fully satisfied no matter how hard they tried to make the most of them. He recalled the awful reality that being alone like this would be considered a betrayal, and that with every meeting they ran the risk of discovery and the harsh consequences that would undoubtedly follow.

Thinking that way, it was no wonder Gwen had broke down crying. She had every reason to feel distressed by the thought of being forced to live this way forever.

"That's why you reconciled with Arthur," he said quietly, kissing a cheek that was still slightly damp from her tears. "You felt obligated to do so?"

"Yes."

"And you couldn't have chosen me in any case; Arthur would've never understood."

"No."

"Gwen, if this isn't what you want…"

"It doesn't matter what I want. Not anymore."

It didn't matter? He stared at her in disbelief. With a single word from her, one hint she was ready to be free, he would not shy away from telling the truth no matter what the consequences might be. Damn the knighthood; if Arthur couldn't forgive them, he'd take her somewhere far away and build a happy life for her, enough to make up for everything she'd lost. For her to think that her feelings didn't matter…

"How can you say that?" he demanded.

"Because it's true," she said softly, not quite meeting his eyes. "I can't leave Arthur. Not like this, with Agravaine threatening to corrupt the entire kingdom and him none the wiser. He _listens_ to me, Lancelot. I have a hold over him, and I might still be able to use that… not just for his own protection, but on behalf of the entire kingdom. How can I walk away from that chance, knowing that hundreds or even thousands of innocent lives hang in the balance? Part of me wishes I was that selfish, but I'm not. I…"

"I understand," he said, the resignation in his voice mingled with admiration. "It is no different than what I'd do in your situation."

Gwen nodded. "This is the way it has to be, at least… well, maybe when Agravaine is exposed and Arthur's far less vulnerable, I'll be free to choose for myself. It won't be any easier on him, but…"

Lancelot swallowed hard, knowing it was necessary and yet reluctant to give voice to the one thought that terrified him more than any other. 

"What if he wants to marry you before that happens?"

The expression of panic on her face shouldn't have been comforting, but it was. "I don't think… he hasn't been any hurry to do that so far, and I suppose it helps that Agravaine would be appalled by the idea. I guess… I suppose I'd just tell him I wasn't ready and leave it at that. It's not like anyone can force me to do it."

Lancelot released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and wrapped his arms more tightly around her, kissing her softly before asking the final question that mattered:

"And... this? What do you require of me? All you have to do is tell me, Gwen. You know that."

"It isn't fair…"

"I didn't ask if it was fair."

"But the danger…"

"I don't care. Tell me, please."

"I want… I don't want anything to change. Whenever it's possible to be with you where we won't be discovered, I… I want to. It might be wrong, but I don't think I can go back to the way things were before. Not now."

He sighed in relief. "Nor can I."

Her arms were wrapped around his neck, lips so close to his ear that her warm breath made him shiver as she whispered, "Can you live with it? It's a lot to ask… really, it isn't fair…"

"I'd be willing to endure anything for just a few moments with you, so please do not feel guilty on my behalf. We'd both be fools to believe it will be easy, but…"

"We'll make the best of what we have."

"Yes."

They sat in silence, holding each other close as they tried to absorb the truths that had been acknowledged that night. But it didn't take long for awareness of their close proximity to trump all else, for soft, lazy kisses to become much more demanding as Lancelot swiftly untied the laces of Gwen's corset and let it fall to the floor. This was one of those times, after all… the scant few hours that provided some semblance of safety and must be used to their fullest advantage.

"Lancelot, we can't," she said a few minutes later, her breath catching in her throat as he slipped his hand inside the front of her dress, pushing it down until her breasts were exposed. "Not here."

"No one will find us," he whispered against her lips. "It's the middle of the night."

"I know. But what I mean is, there isn't anywhere for us to…"

She was still so innocent, despite the fact that they'd made love half a dozen times by then. The thought was intensely arousing, as was the blush he spotted briefly before she ducked her head to avoid his amused stare. There were still so many things he could show her… the idea that a bed would be a necessary part of even half of those was laughable. Truly, she had no idea.

Unable to help himself, he gave her what must have been a decent imitation of one of Gwaine's wicked smiles. "The chair or the wall?" 

The floor was also an option, of course, but it was filthy, and he didn't want to leave smudged sheets behind as evidence they'd been here.

"I… ah, the chair?" Gwen said, looking a little flustered. "But how…?"

Lancelot chuckled, gently urging her to rise from his lap. "There are a couple different ways, but I think..."

He knelt at her feet, pushing her skirts up until he found what he was looking for. The ribbons fell apart beneath his fingers he drew her undergarments down, encouraging her to step out of them before tucking them away in his pocket lest they be forgotten. He looked up to find her watching him intently, panting softly as he nudged her legs a little further apart. She clutched her skirts against her chest as he kissed his way up the insides of her thighs, finally giving in to the temptation to taste the sweetness of her arousal as she gasped and pressed herself more firmly against his mouth.

He wouldn't do this for long – too much of an effort for her to try and remain steady on her feet when her legs were already trembling, threatening to buckle beneath her. Just enough to make sure she was ready, and then…

Rising to his feet, he unlaced his trousers and pushed them down, his heavy erection springing forth as he sank back into the chair.

"Gwen…"

She looked at him in confusion and then she understood, moving forward to straddle his thighs and then hesistantly lowering herself onto his lap. With a low, drawn out whimper, she let his hardness fill her so gradually that it was all he could do not to start thrusting right then and there. But no... it was her turn now.

Soon enough, all he knew was the bliss of her exquisite heat surrounding him as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her lips capturing his in a deep, hungry kiss.

He kept his hands on her hips at first, gently guiding her movements as she became adjusted to the unfamiliar rhythm. But then she took control, setting her own slow, sensuous pace that was somehow even more intense than his hard, driving thrusts would've been. Good lord, the way she _moved_... 

He wouldn't last long. Not like this.

"Lean back," he said softly, struggling to ignore his own swiftly rising arousal as he focused on hers. "I won't let you fall."

She immediately arched her back, giving him access to her breasts as she continued to rock back and forth, faster now, lost to the sweet friction she was creating between them. Her sounds of pleasure were almost constant, shaky moans and breathless little cries growing louder and more urgent as his lips moved from one taut nipple to the other, pulling it deep into his mouth. She was almost there… fortunate, as he wasn't far behind.

He moved with her then, wrapping his arms tightly around her body as he pulled her close against his chest. Part of him couldn't wait for it to be over, desperate for that blissful moment of release to come upon him. But the other part wanted to hold on just a little longer… another minute… another hour… forever. Anything to keep her here with him, sheltered from the world outside and all its complications, his and his alone for the rest of his days.

But of course, it was out of his hands; the last of his control snapped when she came apart with a muffled sob against his shoulder, shuddering all around him and then relaxing with a soft sigh of satisfaction. Just a few swift upward thrusts and he was over the edge, too, wave after wave of mindless pleasure that finally subsided, followed by a tender, lingering kiss.

Soon enough, it was time to leave their stolen sanctuary, something they both understood without words as she lifted herself off of him and began putting her clothing to rights. That didn't make it easy though, nor any less frustrating that Lancelot couldn't think of a single thing to say, for all that his mind was spinning with countless thoughts of love and adoration. All he could do was rise and lace up his trousers, then reluctantly follow as she headed for the door.

He was cautious to the point of paranoia, but the hallway outside was deserted as he let her slip out first. Hesitating for a moment, she turned back to him, reaching out and giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

"Next time?" she whispered, her voice soft and hopeful.

"Next time," he echoed, reaching out to caress her cheek. He very nearly said something else, but then she flinched at the sound of footsteps on the staircase just above them. Giving him an apologetic look, she turned and hurried away.

He watched until she disappeared around the corner, then sighed and turned his feet in the opposite direction.

Another dream was over. Time to face reality once more.


	92. Ambiguous Disclosures

#  **Chapter 92: Ambiguous Disclosures**

* * *

"I've been thinking about it," Gwaine said, briefly distracted by the barmaid's ample cleavage as she leaned over to serve their drinks. He gave her a sly little wink, then returned his attention to Lancelot. "I think I know why you've been so out of sorts lately."

Lancelot froze, his tankard suspended in midair as his breath caught in his throat. "You do?"

"Sure I do. You're not as good at hiding things as you think you are. Well, maybe from Arthur, but he's always been a little slow on the uptake, if you know what I mean. You could bring a herd of cows into the Council Chamber and he wouldn't know the difference… not until Merlin or Gwen told him what was what." He snickered to himself, then took a long drink of ale.

For all that Lancelot's heart was pounding frantically in his chest, it was somewhat comforting that Gwaine didn't seem perturbed by whatever he thought he knew. Cautiously, he said, "Go on."

"Simple. You were upset about being left behind. Felt useless, even a little ashamed if I know you at all. Can't say as I blame you for it either. That was a nasty bit of business."

Sighing in relief, he leaned back in his chair and took another drink. Yes, that was a reasonable assumption, one that was even true, even if it had been pushed to the back of his mind with everything that had been going on with Gwen recently. She had a way of making everything else seem less important than it normally would have.

"Yes, I suppose so."

Gwaine nodded sagely. "Thought that had to be it. Well, if it makes you feel any better, we all know what really happened."

"What? Who?"

"Me. Percival. No doubt Merlin does. Not so sure about Leon; who can ever tell what he's thinking? And Elyan… he's too busy licking Arthur's boots to form an opinion about much of anything, but nothing to be done about that."

"You know…?"

Gwaine shrugged. "Easy enough to figure out what must have happened. Agravaine made sure you were given a nice little reprimand for daring to disagree with him, am I right? Course I am. To tell you the truth, we all… well, me and Percival, at least, have been feeling a little guilty. Didn't speak up when you did, you know."

Lancelot mulled that over for a moment. "You have no reason to feel guilty on my behalf, though I'm relieved to know that I'm not the only one…"

"Who thinks he's a snake?" Gwaine said more quietly, shooting a quick look around to make sure there were no eavesdroppers. "Definitely not. I would've called him out myself, but… just seems best not to show my cards too soon."

"What do you mean?"

"Remember when I tried to teach you how to gamble?"

Lancelot frowned. "Of course, but…"

"Remember what I told you?"

Unable to help himself, he smiled at the memory. "You said I should never take up gambling as a lifestyle unless I had a burning desire to spend the rest of my days as a pauper."

"Indeed, I did," Gwaine said, waving for another round. "And do you remember why?"

"You said I was too honest. That the other players wouldn't even have to try and read my expressions – they'd just ask me what I was holding and I'd tell them."

"Right."

"I can keep a secret very well when I need to," Lancelot pointed out a little defensively. "You have no idea…"

Gwaine chuckled to himself, raising the fresh tankard to his lips. "I never questioned that. You'd take it to the grave if you thought you were protecting someone else by doing so. Just not sure you always know when you should be keeping your mouth shut for your own sake."

He appeared as if he wanted to say something else, but just then, a large group of younger knights entered the tavern, talking loudly among themselves as they sat down at the empty tables surrounding Lancelot and Gwaine.

"This isn't the place. Come on."

A few minutes later, they were shut away in Lancelot's quarters, seated across from one another in silence as they gradually adjusted to the serene atmosphere. Indeed, it felt much safer here; Lancelot let out a relieved sigh, waiting for the other knight to continue.

"Sorry. Would have brought you to my room… better refreshments there, I'm sure. I just don't want to get the chickens riled up again. One of them went after Elyan this morning and it was a disaster."

"Chickens?"

"Yes, I'm planning to…" Gwaine trailed off, then flashed him a huge grin. "Well, just ask Percival about it in a few days."

Lancelot frowned, but decided to drop the subject. "I do have some wine," he said after a moment. "I'm sorry; I should've already offered you some."

"Sounds good! Now back to what I was saying…"

"You don't think I know how to look out for myself."

Gwaine rolled his eyes. "I didn't say that. What I meant is that you're the type to be on the front lines, not in the background plotting strategy. Nothing wrong with that, but you can't go charging in with your sword held aloft when dealing with a man like Agravaine. Won't work."

"Yes, I'm beginning to see that."

"Good. That's good. But you've already given him reason to single you out, alerted him to the fact that you're not exactly accepting of his policies. No doubt he'll be watching you from now on, looking for any reason to discredit you with Arthur."

Lancelot nodded, having already expected as much. "So what do you suggest I do?"

"Don't give him one. Keep your head down and your thoughts to yourself. Stay quiet. Observe. And meanwhile, make a show of being so obedient that even he can't find fault with you. Somehow, I think you'll be able to manage that well enough."

"But what he's doing… the way he's trying to manipulate Arthur…"

Gwaine sighed heavily, pausing to take a long sip of wine. "I know. We all do, aside from Arthur himself. Pegged that man for exactly what he was the first day I ever met him, to tell you the truth. But he's too powerful for any of us to openly defy him. Don't like it any more than you do, but that's the way of it."

"So we're helpless then? No choice but to stand back and let this happen?"

"No."

"But what can we do? If Arthur won't listen…"

"Well, there's something encouraging about all this," Gwaine said, his words slow and thoughtful. "Arthur still knows his own mind to some degree. After all, he did the right thing in the end, ignoring Agravaine's advice and choosing his own way to bring the conflict to an end. That has to mean something, right? It seems our best course of action, at least for now, is to let him figure these things out for himself… and hope he continues to do so."

"I suppose you're right."

"That's not to say we can't keep our eyes open for anything we might be able to use against Agravaine in the meantime. He's clever, so I'm not counting on it, but if we had some sort of proof… something that couldn't be denied…"

"Like what?"

"I don't know," Gwaine said quietly. "I really don't."

But then he released a deep breath and smiled, shrugging carelessly as he finished off the contents of his goblet. "Good stuff you've got here," he said approvingly. "Should stop by a little more often."

"More?" Lancelot asked, reaching for the bottle.

"I'd like to, but I can't. I'm supposed to patrol the western border of the forest with Leon this afternoon. In fact, I should probably be going. He always gets a little surly when you don't arrive exactly on time, you know what I mean?"

Lancelot smiled. "I'm afraid I don't. I've never been late."

"Now there's a shock." Gwaine chuckled, shaking his head in mock exasperation as he rose to his feet and glanced around the room. "Just like your chamber is always spotless and there are never any dirty clothes lying around. You know, Lancelot, you really are too perfect for your own good sometimes."

"Really, I'm not…"

"Hey, wait a minute. What's that?"

Lancelot opened his mouth to stop him, but he was already across the room, retrieving the tiny square of snowy fabric that lay neatly folded on the pillow. With a triumphant grin plastered across his face, he held the obviously feminine undergarment aloft, turning it this way and that for closer inspection.

"Aha! Looks like someone's been keeping secrets after all. And what fine lady do these belong to?"

Flustered and more than a little panicked, Lancelot gestured helplessly. "I... ah... no one. Well, I'm sure they belong to _someone_ , but I wouldn't know. I… they ended up in my laundry somehow, that's all. Yes, I was planning on giving them to one of the servants as soon as I had the chance."

Gwaine just snickered, running his fingers over the delicate lace edging. "Right. Can tell a lot about a woman by looking at these, you know. Well, if you're me, anyway. I consider myself to be a bit of an expert on these things."

Lancelot swallowed hard, resisting the urge to snatch Gwen's undergarments away from him. "Like what?"

"Well, let's just say that you wouldn't find anything like this on a barmaid, or down at the brothel. Good quality fabric, fine stitching… whoever left these in your bed, she has to be someone who can afford a few luxuries. So who is it? One of the courtiers? Maybe that blonde who hasn't been able to keep her eyes off you lately? Well, no… she's a skinny little thing – too skinny, if you ask me. These were made to fit a woman with some shape to her. Nice. Very nice."

"I told you…"

Gwaine let out an exaggerated sigh, dropping the undergarment on the pillow. "Fine. Don't tell me. But I'll find out sooner or later – you can be sure of it."

"Don't you have a patrol?"

"Right. Best get on with that."

Lancelot showed him to the door, closing it behind him with a sigh of relief. Only a second later, there was a quiet knock; curious, he answered.

Gwaine's face was peering back at him through the small crack, frowning in deep consternation. "Just one more question," he said, his voice low and serious.

"Yes?"

"Did you take them off with your hands or your teeth?"

He shut the door in Gwaine's face, shaking his head in exasperation as the sound of boisterous laughter gradually faded down the hall.

* * *

"Elyan!" Gwen exclaimed, smiling at the man she found sitting at the kitchen table as she closed the front door behind her. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

It wasn't a question that should've been asked between brother and sister, but Elyan's visits were infrequent, and almost always with some specific purpose in mind. Rather sad, really… it was almost like seeing a stranger staring back at her, especially with him dressed in full uniform as he always was these days. How she missed… but no, dwelling on the past was pointless, as was grieving for the closeness they'd once shared. That was another time, a different place, a separate world that bore little resemblance to this one in anything but the most basic outward appearances.

"Gwen," he acknowledged with a courteous nod. When had he become so formal? The Elyan she'd once known had been relaxed and affectionate, not stiff and polite.

"Can I get you something to drink? To eat?"

Elyan shook his head, fiddling with the clasp at his neck. "Thank you, but no. I won't be staying long. Arthur is running some extra drills down at the training grounds this afternoon, and I'd like to attend. I just wanted to tell you…"

"What is it?" she asked, concerned.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "That is, I'm just relieved you and Arthur were able to work out your differences."

"Oh." She sat back in her chair, feeling a little deflated. "Thank you."

He was staring at her, the intensity in his eyes suddenly making her feel a little uncomfortable. "You don't seem all that happy about it."

"What? No. I mean, yes I am. Of course I am. How did you know about it anyway?"

"People talk. I hear things. There aren't many secrets around here, especially among the knights. I know he tried to sever your relationship the night before we left for battle. I expect Agravaine had something to do with that."

"Yes."

Suddenly, he was leaning forward in his chair, taking both her hands in his own. She looked at him in surprise, both startled by the firmness of his grip and disconcerted by the realization that she couldn't remember the last time he'd actually touched her.

"We cannot allow that to happen again, Gwen. Not now. You're so close…"

She frowned. "Close to what?"

"To being _queen!_ "

"I… Elyan, that's not what my relationship with Arthur is about. Even if I _did_ marry him, it wouldn't be…"

" _If?_ "

Becoming slightly irritated, she studied him for a long moment. "Yes, _if_. I don't know if I…" But she couldn't tell him the truth, or anything close to it. "What I mean is I'm not sure Arthur even _wants_ to get married anytime soon. It's not something we talk about, and anyway, he's still adjusting to being king. He has too many other things on his mind; it seems best to let him focus on those for the time being."

Elyan shook his head vigorously. "How can you say that? Agravaine… you _know_ what he's trying to do, Gwen! If he has his way, Arthur will break it off again, and this time for good. Is that what you want?"

"Why would I want to be with someone who'd give me up so easily?"

"Damn it, be practical! You're a servant, a commoner! Do you know how lucky you are… how lucky we _both_ are that Arthur is willing to see past that? We're not in a position to make the rules here. We have to take what is given and be what he needs us to be! It's not our right to…"

"Stop," Gwen said, burying her head in her hands. "Just stop. I can't…"

"But…"

"Do you really think that about yourself?" she whispered sadly. "About me? That we're just… that people like Arthur are better than us, and we don't deserve to be treated as equals?"

Elyan sighed heavily. "No, of course not. I'm just being realistic, Gwen. Until your position is secure, that's what you are in the eyes of the world. Don't you understand? Arthur can love and leave you as he pleases, and what will you be left with then? Nothing. But when you become queen, you'll be taken care of for the rest of your life! No one will dare question you, no one will ever say you're not good enough. Our family will be _royalty,_ Gwen… our children, and their children, and…"

The light in his eyes was almost feverish; she stared at him as if she'd never seen him before as she was struck by an unpleasant realization. "I suppose being a queen's brother is a somewhat higher position than a blacksmith's son."

" _Yes!_ Well, I mean, of course it is, but that's not why…"

"Elyan, you're a knight. Arthur gave you that position because he thought you deserved it. And I know for a fact he has never regretted that decision. Isn't that enough for you?"

"Of course. It's what I've always dreamed of, Gwen, and that's why I just want to secure our places in Arthur's life. Not just for my sake, but yours! That's why I'm saying all of this… I want to see you taken care of, to have fine things, and…"

"In case you hadn't noticed," she said quietly. "I've been taking care of myself quite well for many years now. I don't need…"

"But you wouldn't have to work anymore, cleaning chambers and doing laundry and…"

"I _like_ to work."

"Why are you being so stubborn about this? Is it because you think Arthur will never marry you anyway? He will, Gwen! I _know_ he will! You just have to try a little harder. Give him a push in the right direction."

"No."

Elyan blinked. "What?"

"No," she repeated, rising to her feet. "Whatever your reasons might be for pressuring me this way, it's not your place to interfere."

"I'm your brother, and…"

"It's funny how you only seem to remember that when it's convenient for you."

"You said you forgave me for…"

Gwen let out a heavy sigh. "I did, Elyan. Of course I did. But you have to understand that I'm not a little girl anymore. I'm a grown woman, capable of making my own decisions, and I know what's best for myself. I'd appreciate it if you'd respect that and not involve yourself in a personal relationship that has nothing to do with you."

"It has _everything_ to do with me!"

"No, it doesn't," she said firmly, although she had a sinking feeling the words were falling on deaf ears. Elyan looked both baffled and furious, and it was then she realized her impressions of him were right – he really _was_ a stranger to her now.

"Gwen, you have to…"

"I don't _have_ to do anything. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. I have work to do, and you'll miss your training session with Arthur."

He scowled, brushing at a nonexistent smudge on his cloak as he rose and stalked toward the door. For a hopeful moment, she thought he'd leave without saying anything else, but then he turned back to her, his eyes colder than she'd ever seen them.

"I hope you'll come to your senses before it's too late," he said stiffly. "I'll never forgive you if you ruin this for us."


	93. Bait and Switch

#  **Chapter 93: Bait and Switch**

* * *

Life returned to normal for Gwen, who reported to the palace each morning to take care of the light duties she'd seen to since Uther's death. Though she sometimes volunteered for other chores, she was only required to do a bit of light dusting here and there, change a few sets of linens, help with the laundry, and arrange fresh flowers in the chambers where they were requested.

It was a fraction of the work she'd done in Morgana's service, which made her feel guilty that she was still being paid the same salary as before. But when she'd brought the subject up with Arthur, he'd just looked appalled, insisting that no one could live on such meager pay, then doubling the amount she received each week.

She appreciated his concern, of course, and it was nice to add a little something extra to the battered chest beneath her bed that held her savings and other valuables. But it would've been nice if he'd spared a thought for the rest of the staff at the same time, especially the scullery maids who earned only a tiny pittance for their grueling labor. She might have even suggested that at the time, but she was trying so hard to avoid finding fault with him wherever she looked.

Meanwhile, he'd resumed their relationship as if nothing had happened, the same sweet affection and tender smiles, light conversation and gentle embraces. It wasn't difficult to fall back into old routines… being with Arthur was an established habit, and in truth, she was good at it. Perhaps it helped that he was such a simple man; a kiss on the cheek or a few words of encouragement were enough to satisfy him. So different than Lancelot, who thrilled her with his unspoken demands for access to parts of herself she'd never shared with anyone… some she hadn't even known existed until he'd proven otherwise.

It was a strange double life she led for the first couple months following Arthur's return. Her evenings were spent sitting sedately in his chamber, their quiet conversation only occasionally interrupted by soft kisses or the hesitant, fumbling caresses that immediately ceased at her first sign of discomfort. He never pushed her, for which she was grateful, but she soon came to the conclusion that the passion wasn't only lacking on her part. How much of that was truth as opposed to what she _wanted_ to believe was difficult to say, but it wasn't hard to convince herself that his tendency to test her boundaries had more to do with feeling as if it were expected of him than any sort of urgent desire to be with her in that way.

No, _urgent_ desire would come later in the night, a need that was far too blatant to be excused as anything less than what it was. It didn't happen often – maybe once a week or so – but oh, how she lived for those scant hours she spent in Lancelot's arms, forever anticipating the next chance she might have to be alone with him.

It hadn't taken long for her to start dressing with these encounters in mind, without even realizing she was doing so at first. Underclothes were a thing of the past, restrictive corsets and complicated fastenings falling to the wayside in favor of loose necklines and simple laces. Anything to make it easier, whatever it took to feel his touch on her bare skin as soon as possible, especially during those times when it was necessary to be quick and to the point, rather than fully undressing and lingering over one another's bodies as they might have preferred.

Necessity forced them to be creative, to make love in ways she would've never thought possible before having done them. Lancelot had even taken her up against the wall a couple of times, skirts pushed aside and legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he'd driven into her like a man possessed. Gwen had clung to him desperately the first time for fear that she'd fall, soon doing so for another reason entirely as she'd realized how much pleasure was to be had that way. She'd loved the position, in awe of his pure, raw strength as he'd managed to hold her weight effortlessly, all while putting forth the enormous amount of energy required to maintain such a fast and furious rhythm.

Yes, there was no other option when their guarantee of safety could be counted in minutes rather than hours, leaving no time for tenderness or slow arousal. The act itself was pleasurable either way, but the biggest frustration was rarely having time to enjoy the aftermath, often forced to part ways while they were both still trembling from their release. It was far better than nothing, of course, but she couldn't help longing for what they'd had during her brief separation from Arthur… soft, lazy kisses and gentle caresses, falling asleep in his arms and waking up the same way. She'd never known how miserable it could be to sleep alone until learning there was such a pleasant alternative.

And yet in some ways, it seemed they were never fully apart. Even on the days they were unable to meet, she frequently saw him around the castle, his carefully brief glance filled with tenderness whenever they happened to pass one another in the corridors. He was one of the few who had fresh flowers in his quarters every day, despite having never requested them, for no other reason than the slight chance he'd be there and they might risk a few words or even a quick kiss before caution demanded she move on to the next chamber.

Yes, making the best of their situation meant clinging to the little things whenever they were apart – a trace of his warm, masculine scent in her hair, the pleasant tenderness between her legs following one of their passionate encounters, memories of his kisses on her lips or falling asleep and dreaming of those beautiful dark eyes gazing back at her in open adoration...

Sometimes, she could even almost believe it was enough.

* * *

It was one of those days when Lancelot spent most of his time trying to look useful, despite the fact that there wasn't a single thing for him to do. The atmosphere of the castle was peaceful, almost lazy, its inhabitants lulled into complacency by the unusually sunny afternoon. A fragrant breeze drifted in from the open windows, and if he hadn't been on duty, he would've been quite content to spend the remainder of the day outside.

Instead, he wandered aimlessly through the corridors without paying any heed to where he was going, lost in daydreams about Gwen.

The large storage room that contained most of the castle's spare furniture was a particular favorite of his on the rare occasions they were able to risk it, especially the feather stuffed mattress that was tucked away in one corner. Just the thought of her lying there was enough to make him hard… dark curls spilling all around her, bare skin golden in the warm candlelight, those big, soft eyes filling with a thousand promises of pleasures both known and unknown as he knelt between her thighs…

Good lord, she was going to be the death of him… not that he could bring himself to mind.

And then suddenly, his blissful recollections were interrupted by the sound of her name, spoken in a voice that made him cringe. He stopped dead in his tracks as he realized he was standing just outside of Arthur's chambers, not quite sure how he'd gotten there. The door was slightly ajar, and although the conversation taking place inside was slightly muffled, it was easy enough to understand what was being said as he moved a little closer.

"I appreciate your concern, Uncle, but we've already discussed this. Guinevere is my choice, and if the people can't understand that…"

"No, no!" Agravaine interrupted, his voice so falsely placating that Lancelot felt a little ill as he listened. "I only wanted to tell you I have come to understand and respect your feelings. If this is truly what you want, then I will do everything in my power to support you."

"I…" Arthur started, sounding surprised yet hopeful. "Thank you. May I ask what prompted this sudden change of heart?"

Part of Lancelot was screaming at him to walk away, but his feet might as well have been nailed to the floor.

"I've said that a good king is bold, decisive. Have I not?"

"You have."

Agravaine chuckled loudly. "Well, what could possibly be bolder than turning your back on traditions that have been in place for hundreds of years? I think that makes a pretty strong point, don't you?"

Lancelot could easily picture the frown of confusion on Arthur's face when he responded.

"But I thought… you said traditions should be respected."

"I did, and I stand by that. But it's not a bad idea to break from one every once in a while, simply to remind the people that it is _you_ who rule the kingdom, not the dictates of your forebears."

"I suppose that makes sense," Arthur said slowly. "But…"

"I've said from the beginning that Guinevere is a lovely woman, have I not? I've always praised her virtues, and I can see where she'd make a wonderful queen. Perhaps I was hesitant to encourage such a union, but you're still quite young, Arthur. I wasn't sure you were making the right decision for the right reasons, though I have since come to realize that you are. My only hope now is that you'll accept my apology, and allow me to assist you in any way I can."

 _He cannot be serious,_ Lancelot thought in amazement, unable to imagine how Arthur could ever fall for such an obvious play on his emotions. But he did, of course; his voice was soft and gentle, holding not a hint of suspicion when he replied.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Uncle. I cannot tell you how much I've come to value your counsel, or how deeply I appreciate your honesty. I can only thank you – you've always had my best interests at heart, even when we may disagree, and I'd be a fool to expect more than that."

Even from the other side of the door, Lancelot could almost feel the silent triumph oozing from Agravaine. Repugnant bastard. What was he up to?

"I'm both honored and pleased you feel that way. Perhaps you'll be willing to hear me out then, if I wish to give you a little advice where Guinevere is concerned?"

"Of course," Arthur said automatically, though it was a comfort that he sounded slightly more cautious now.

"Well, if the people are going to accept her when the time comes, I believe it is imperative we begin preparing them now for the eventuality of her becoming their queen. You must give them time to get used to the idea, Arthur, take it more gradually rather than springing it on them on the day of your wedding. Such a shock will not go over well, I can assure you of that."

"I see. What do you suggest we do?"

Agravaine hesitated. "I believe it would be best to remove her from service here in the palace."

Lancelot heard Arthur suck in a sharp breath, perfectly timed with his own.

"You… you believe I should _dismiss_ her? She's one of the best servants we have!"

"Yes, sire, but she is still a _servant_. And if you allow her to continue in that position, I'm afraid that's all the people will ever see when they look at her. A gradual rise in status would be…"

"But…" Arthur interrupted, sounding slightly bewildered. "You know how hard it is for me to get away from my duties. Having Guinevere here makes it much easier to find time to be with her. I'd hate to give that up."

"I understand," Agravaine said, his voice soft and persuasive. "Truly, I do. But you must consider something else, sire. A future queen should come to her marriage bed with a spotless reputation. How do you suppose it looks for her to be in and out of here at all hours, often locked away in your chambers until late in the evening?"

"I… uh…"

"Naturally, I do everything I can to protect your privacy, Arthur. We all do. But rumors have a way of spreading like wildfire, with no way to put a stop to them once they've been passed along. We wouldn't want to give anyone the impression that Guinevere is your mistress rather than the woman you intend to marry someday, would we? That would destroy her credibility before she even has a chance to prove herself."

Arthur sighed heavily. "Yes, I see your point. I will need time to think about this, of course."

"Of course."

"If I do decide this would be the best course of action, what about Guinevere? How is she supposed to support herself?"

"I see no reason why she can't continue to receive her usual salary. No one needs to know, and she is to share your fortune someday. What are a few pieces of silver here and there compared with that?"

"Very well, Uncle. I'll consider the matter carefully. Thank you… your wisdom and experience are invaluable, and I can't tell you how grateful I am for both."

Lancelot backed away from the door and turned on his heel, trying his best to appear unruffled as he made his way back down to the lower floors. He was oblivious to everyone he passed along the way, until he saw her walking toward him, carrying a load of freshly laundered linens. Not liking what he was about to do, he changed direction at the last second, bumping into her just hard enough to knock the basket out of her arms.

"Forgive me," he said hastily, kneeling to help her gather the scattered sheets. "Clumsy, I… I should pay more attention to where I'm going."

It was fortunate he was known for his impeccable manners when dealing with nobles and commoners alike – there'd be nothing unusual about him assisting a servant from the perspective of any passersby, just Sir Lancelot being his typically courteous self. But she knew the difference – it was obvious in her curious gaze as he brought his head close to hers.

"I need to see you as soon as possible," he said as quietly as he could manage. "Alone."

She blushed, momentarily distracting him from more serious matters. "So soon?" she whispered. "We were just together last night. I mean, not that I don't _want_ to… I do, very much… it's just I thought you said it would be best to space it out as much as possible. Minimize the risk."

Grabbing for the last of the sheets with deliberate slowness, he murmured, "I'm afraid it isn't anything so pleasant as that. Not this time. Can you meet me?"

"I… yes, I'll find an excuse to bring something to your quarters. 7 o'clock?"

He gave her what he hoped was a comforting smile, hating that he'd given her cause to worry over the next several hours. "I'll make sure I'm there."

* * *

Time dragged by at a snail's pace. Lancelot's shift soon ended, followed by activities intended to keep himself mindlessly busy until the appointed hour. He went down to the training grounds to watch the new recruits for a while, then stopped by the kitchens for a quick bite to eat, knowing he was likely to miss supper. Following that was an unusually lengthy bath – the water was ice cold, his skin beginning to prune by the time he climbed out of the tub and dressed.

He was still left with more than an hour on his hands, with nothing to do but wait while wondering what would happen if Arthur chose to act upon Agravaine's advice.

He had his suspicions as to the real reason behind this strategy; it was difficult not to when the truth seemed so obvious. Arthur rarely left the palace other than to visit the training grounds, unless there was some urgent situation that required his presence. Gwen would be out of his reach far more often than not, which would be highly convenient if someone was interested in reducing her importance in his life or minimizing her influence over him.

Yes, that had to be the reason… one that placed Lancelot in a rather awkward position. Selfishly, he wouldn't exactly be devastated if Arthur and Gwen were given less time to spend together. It wasn't a part of himself he liked, but as much as he knew their relationship wasn't a passionate one, he still envied Arthur for all those long evenings during which he was allowed to enjoy her company… no need to worry someone would find out, never left wanting for more when a hasty coupling in a storage room was all he could hope for that week. Really, did the man realize how lucky he was?

On the other hand, putting Gwen further out of Arthur's reach would have the same effect on Lancelot himself. It was already difficult to figure out ways to be with her where the risk would be minimal, and that was when they were in one another's immediate vicinity. What would he do if she were obligated to stay away? He didn't have many plausible excuses to visit the lower town unless he was on duty, and it wasn't like he could just show up at her house in the middle of the night.

And then there was Gwen herself, undoubtedly the most important factor of all. Would Arthur still remove her from her position if she argued against it? More than once, she'd told Lancelot how much she enjoyed her work, how good it felt to stay busy and feel useful. Would Arthur honestly expect her to just sit at home with nothing to do until he decided he was ready to marry her? Didn't he understand her well enough to realize she'd be miserable if it came to that?

Meanwhile, Gwen didn't come at 7 o'clock. An hour later, Lancelot was still trying to convince himself that she'd gotten caught up with some other duty and was merely a bit late. When 9 o'clock rolled around, however, he could no longer hold his anxieties at bay.

Surely Arthur wouldn't have acted upon Agravaine's advice already. No, not this soon… not without taking the time to fully consider what he was doing or allow Gwen to give her opinion on the matter. There had to be another reason, some perfectly logical explanation as to why she hadn't shown up.

But by the time the clock struck midnight, he was fairly certain he knew the truth.


	94. Intimacy

#  **Chapter 94: Intimacy**

* * *

"You knew," Gwen said quietly, twisting her hands in her lap. "This is what you wanted to tell me when you asked me to meet you alone."

"Yes."

"I still can't believe it. I… Lancelot, I've been working in the palace for most of my life. What am I supposed to do now?"

"If you need money…"

She shook her head, wiping away a stray tear. "It isn't about the money. I have my savings… not much, but enough to last me a while. And Arthur offered to continue paying my salary, though I don't feel right about that. I just don't know what I'm supposed…"

"I know, Gwen. I know."

Coming down here in the middle of the night had been a huge risk, but Lancelot hadn't been able to help himself. And as soon as she'd opened the door and he'd seen her devastated expression, he'd known it had been the right decision. Even now, her eyes were still swollen, occasional shuddering breaths making it obvious that she'd been crying for quite some time before he'd gotten there.

"Come here," he said softly, pulling her down to sit in his lap. He held her close, brushing the damp curls away from her face as she laid her head on his shoulder and sniffled against his neck. She hadn't told him exactly what had happened yet, but he knew that would come when she was ready.

"I hate him," she said after a long moment.

"Arthur?"

"No, Agravaine… though I'm not too happy with Arthur right now either."

"I don't blame you."

She lifted her head and looked at him, her eyes so vulnerable that he had to swallow past a lump in his throat. "How long can you stay?"

"I'll stay as long as you need me."

"I always need you," she whispered.

That brought a smile to his face; he kissed her softly before he responded. "Then I'll stay forever."

It was bittersweet to say something like that, being a reminder of all the obstacles that stood between them. That was evident in the grief in her eyes and the sadness that must have filled his own. But that didn't mean it wasn't necessary sometimes, to remind her she was loved in a way that would never change… that no matter how bad things might be at any given time, he'd always be there for her as much as circumstances would allow, stretching the limits if he had to.

She told him nothing else until they were lying in her bed, face to face with fingers entwined between them. He'd stripped down to his trousers while she was already wearing her nightgown, a facade of domestic normalcy that was far removed from the stolen moments of frantic lovemaking that had kept them going since Arthur's return. This need was no less important, though it was something Lancelot hadn't realized he was aching for until he saw it for what it was.

Intimacy. It was the need to be with her, just to hold her close and whisper in the darkness… to touch her in ways that had nothing to do with passion or arousal, but were all about tenderness and comfort. This was what he'd been missing following those encounters where he'd had no choice but to lace up his trousers and leave her with a hasty kiss, never fully understanding how he could feel so satisfied and yet completely bereft at the same time.

With that in mind, it wasn't difficult to keep his desire under wraps, to satisfy himself with the occasional gentle kiss or just by gazing into her dark eyes, softly shimmering in the moonlight. He lay beside her in silence for a while, dreaming of a future where they wouldn't have to exist within such limitations, forever obligated to sacrifice one need in favor of another. Just to be able to share the same bed each night, then wake up with her in his arms every morning…

But that could not be. Not yet. And so he pushed his wishful thinking aside and listened as she began to speak.

"I could've talked him out of it," she told him, biting her lip at the unpleasant memory. "Agravaine must've known I would try, which is no doubt why he made sure he was there for the conversation. I tried anyway… really, I did. But no matter what I said, he found a way to twist it and use it against me."

"He's quite good at that. That's what makes him such a threat."

She nodded in agreement. "When I told Arthur I'd like to continue working, Agravaine interceded by telling me I'd never learn to be a proper queen until I got out of the habit of being a servant. I told him that to lead was to be a servant of the people…"

"That was clever," Lancelot said approvingly. "Also true."

"Not according to him. He laughed at me."

"Arrogant son of a…"

"I know," Gwen interrupted, smiling in amusement like she always did whenever he swore or even came close to it. "He said I wouldn't be scrubbing floors or emptying chamber pots if I became queen, and that it was time I started living a life that was somewhat closer to my future station. I don't even do those things now! Or at least, I didn't before…"

"What did Arthur say to that?"

"He just agreed with Agravaine, and then spouted off some nonsense about my reputation that I'm not sure I even understand. I think he was too appalled by the idea of me tending to chamber pots to really consider what I was trying to say. You know, he's always had a bit of a blind spot where my work is concerned. I don't think he likes to think of me doing anything he finds distasteful."

"That doesn't surprise me."

"I'm not ashamed of having done those things," she retorted, her voice defensive.

"Nor should you be. It's a different world, isn't it? That way of living? Even though I've been a knight for some time now, I can hardly imagine…"

She giggled, a sound that warmed his heart even more than usual in light of her earlier distress. "I bet you still empty your own chamber pot, don't you, Sir Lancelot?"

"Every morning and night."

He expected her to laugh again, but her expression became serious, even a little sad. "I respect you for that," she said quietly. "I'm so glad it didn't change you, as it has for other people I've known. The privilege, I mean. Sometimes I think that's all they care about."

Lancelot looked at her thoughtfully. "For me, the desire to become a knight was the wish to serve others, not the other way around."

"I know, and I love you for that. Promise me it will always be that way."

"I promise," he whispered, reaching out to caress her soft cheek. "Just as I promise it will always be you I serve, first and foremost."

The time they spent together that night had little to do with physical need, but it came to that nonetheless, neither wanting to waste such an ideal opportunity. None of the usual urgency was present, however, only tenderness and the need to be as close to one another as possible as Lancelot drew Gwen's nightgown over her head and stretched out naked beside her. It was a rare gift to be able to take his time with her, to make sure no part of her was left wanting for a lingering kiss or a gentle caress.

At first, they made love almost silently, gazing into each other's eyes as he pushed into her, slow and deep, taking a long pause each time just to savor the sensation of being completely joined before gradually withdrawing. It was more intimate than anything he'd ever felt before, so much that the silence was eventually broken by his own voice, soft and husky, unashamedly speaking of his love for her. 

Eventually, the inevitable rush of desire overtook them both, a few blissful moments of moving together in the darkness amidst deep groans and helpless little whimpers, the friction rising between them until one after the other, the sweet pleasure of release flooded through their trembling bodies.

Lancelot knew he should leave as soon as it was over – it would be growing light soon and he'd already stayed much longer than he should have. But he couldn't bring himself to rise… not when she was so warm and soft, her legs tangled with his as she nestled against his chest, murmuring in approval while he gently stroked her back. And so he stayed just a little longer, reluctant to leave when the time came, yet grateful to have the memory of her falling asleep in his arms to carry with him in the days to come.

* * *

Gwen hated the feeling of waking up alone. Rather than lying around feeling sorry for herself, however, she rose and dressed, only to sink back onto the bed upon the realization that she had no idea what to do with herself. She soon decided that a thorough cleaning of her house was in order, along with a trip to the sellers to replenish her foodstuffs and other supplies. But that only took a few hours; following that, she was lost.

Really, the most offensive thing about Arthur's decision to "elevate her station" was that he hadn't spared a single thought for what would replace the long days she'd spent working in the palace. Did he expect her to just sit around doing nothing? Was that what he would've expected if she'd become queen? He'd always told her he valued her advice, but it wasn't as if she'd have followed him around all day, telling him how to do this and that at every turn. What would she have done with the rest of her time?

On the third day, half out of her mind with boredom, she visited one of the local dressmakers to see if her assistance might be needed. By the second week, she had several assignments to work on that would bring in a decent profit, and by the end of the first month, a steadily growing clientele. 

She gradually began to feel better about her change in circumstances, coming to the realization that she actually enjoyed her new job much more than serving in the palace. Her skills as a seamstress had always been commendable, and being able to devote herself to a profession where they were her primary focus brought her a sense of fulfillment unlike any she'd ever felt in her previous line of work.

Meanwhile, Arthur often came to her at night, although the late hours made her suspect he was trying to keep Agravaine from becoming aware of the time they spent together. Always the same cloaked figure knocking quietly at her door around midnight, followed by a couple hours of conversation and gentle affection. She didn't mind… at least, not after her anger had passed and she focused again on her previous determination to try and minimize Agravaine's influence wherever she could.

It wasn't going well, since it seemed as if having her removed from the palace had made Arthur subconsciously disassociate her from everything that happened within. He rarely talked about important issues anymore, only reminisced about his father or complained about Merlin, occasionally relating some funny story that had happened with one of the knights or telling her about the new recruits. 

She knew she needed to do something – otherwise, there was no point to any of this anymore. But what?

Occasionally, Merlin stopped by during the earlier part of the evening. He was furious at first, swearing up and down he'd talk to Arthur and make sure she was restored to her former position. But whatever he said must've fallen on deaf ears, and after his first few visits, he never mentioned it again. He seemed comforted by the fact that Arthur was still finding plenty of ways to be with her, almost as if that had been the only real problem with her change in circumstances.

"This isn't forever, Gwen," he'd reassured her. "At least, I hope not. He's even more grouchy than usual in the mornings after these late nights, and I don't know how much more I can take before I snap and hit him over the head with the closest heavy object."

They'd both laughed, knowing full well he'd never actually do it.

Strangely enough, it was harder to keep up the facade with Merlin than it was with Arthur himself. Arthur had a tendency to focus more on his own interests than he did on trying to figure out what she might be thinking or feeling. All she had to do was smile or kiss him on the cheek and he assumed all was well. With Merlin, it wasn't so easy… he'd look at her with those penetrating eyes, asking all sorts of questions regarding her general well-being or hopes for the future, and she'd be squirming in her seat.

"I just want Arthur to be a good king," she'd tell him truthfully. "I want peace and justice and a kingdom where everyone is free to be who they are without fear of it being used against them."

That was the most effective way to deal with Merlin when his questions became a little too intrusive. Just make some vague comment he could relate back to his magic, and he'd forget all about whatever they'd been discussing before.

"Do you really believe that?" he'd ask her, his eyes soft and shining with hope. It was heartbreaking, really; she'd come to terms with his abilities quite some time ago, knowing in her heart that he'd never harm Arthur or anyone else he cared about. 

Growing up in a kingdom where magic was considered evil had taught her to be deeply suspicious of sorcery. But ultimately, she knew Merlin too well to believe he'd abuse his power, which had opened her up to the greater possibility that perhaps it was the user, not the magic itself, that was the problem. After all, even the most wary observer would be forced to admit that the Druids were a peaceful people, for all that some were capable of performing extremely powerful magic.

Sometimes she desperately wanted to confront him, to talk with him openly about his powers and try and understand them better than she did. But there never seemed to be a right time, and she didn't want to leave him feeling threatened by what she knew. So she remained quiet… certain that the chance would come along sooner or later.

Meanwhile, she never saw Lancelot, not even from a distance, nor did he send any word as to when they could meet. It was discouraging at first, painful to think his feelings might have changed despite the countless times he'd sworn they never would. 

But then one day, more than two months after the most recent night they'd spent together, she came home to find a perfect white flower laying on her kitchen table. And when she lifted it to her nose to breathe in the fragrance, hardly daring to hope the sender might be him, she spotted a tiny bit of parchment tucked between the petals.

Her heart thrummed in her chest as she opened it, her eyes practically devouring the two words that were written in a familiar elegant script.

"Next time."


	95. Desperate Measures

#  **Chapter 95: Desperate Measures**

* * *

Lancelot had known it was going to be much more difficult to be alone with Gwen, but he'd had no idea he wouldn't be seeing her at all for two months, not even from a distance.

Only a couple days after he'd spent the night with her, he'd been summoned to the Council Chamber to find Arthur waiting for him with a smug looking Agravaine at his side. There was unrest on the eastern borders, he'd explained, mostly involving a small portion of land that had always been under dispute. It hadn't been cause for concern in the past, but a settlement had cropped up there over the years, and it seemed that half its inhabitants believed their loyalties lay with Camelot, while the other half pledged their allegiance to Essetir… for all that the kingdom had been in chaos since Cenred's demise.

Several different leaders had risen up to take the fallen king's place, men who either held minor claims or simply had the resources to do so. None of them had lasted long – there was always a stronger, more ambitious, or far more brutal man to usurp the one who came before him. At the moment, the kingdom was ruled by a former goldsmith named Achlad, who was far more interested in titles and riches than he was in the practical business of putting the battered kingdom to rights.

"This is an opportunity," Arthur had said firmly. "It would not be wise to plan a large-scale invasion, on the chance that Essetir would somehow find a way to unite and stand against us. But we can make progress in smaller ways, expanding our own lands and strengthening our borders in the process."

"Sire," Lancelot had acknowledged. It had seemed sensible enough, much more like a strategy Arthur would've come up with himself rather than one of Agravaine's more aggressive plots. "When do we leave?"

Arthur had looked slightly disappointed when he'd said, "I'm not going. Agravaine and I agree it's best I stay close to home and make sure our defenses here are secure. I'd like you to lead the men I'm sending with you; Sir Leon and Sir Gwaine have already chosen theirs and will be departing within the hour."

It had all sounded reasonable, even striking Lancelot as a welcome opportunity to get out of the city and feel like he was doing something useful after so many months of wandering around aimlessly, only ever handling the occasional minor dispute. But that had been before he'd encountered Gwaine in the stables, saddling his horse and wearing an expression of barely contained fury.

"You know what he's doing, don't you?" he'd hissed under his breath as soon as he'd seen Lancelot.

"Arthur?"

" _Agravaine!_ "

"No, I…"

"Divide and conquer, my friend. First Gwen, and now this. Do you think Arthur even spared a thought for trying to expand our borders before Agravaine put the idea in his head? It's a poor excuse for legitimate business, and one that has the convenient perk of separating Arthur from anyone who might want to counteract Agravaine's influence over him. Think any of us will be coming home next week? No, that snake will keep finding reasons to keep us out there, I can guarantee you that."

Lancelot had stared at him in growing dismay. "What can we do about it?"

" _Nothing!_ Nothing. Because we have our orders, and Arthur is too stupid to…" he'd trailed off and shook his head. "Anyway, best of luck to you out there. I hope to see you again... sooner rather than later."

"But I thought we were all going."

Gwaine had given him a humorless smile. "Thought the same thing at first, that at least I'd have friends around to keep me company. But no, we're all going to separate places. One of us to lead each mission, and a bunch of green boys to follow."

"Divide and conquer indeed," Lancelot had said quietly.

"Indeed."

* * *

The first few weeks were the worst. Night after night, he'd lie beneath the stars and think of her… what she might be doing at that moment, if she missed him, or if she even knew where he was or why he hadn't sent word. He'd been given only a small amount of time to throw his things in a sack and get his men situated before he'd been expected to depart, but all the same, he'd managed to slip away just long enough to knock on her door.

She hadn't been home.

Would Arthur have told her? Surely he would have… but with her no longer working in the palace, did they even have the chance to see one another these days?

Not knowing was torture, as was the inevitable longing that overtook him after the first few days, obligating him to sneak away from time to time just to give himself a little relief. It was cruel, really – he'd often lamented the fact that they could only hope to be alone together perhaps once a week, but now… he'd give the world to have that back. Even less, really. Just the chance to see her, to hear her voice for a moment would be a comfort beyond imagining.

Instead, he only had a thin blanket and the cold, hard ground, unappetizing rations and the tiresome obligation of riding from one destination to the next as the missives arrived, each serving to further emphasize the pointlessness of this mission.

That was the hardest part. If he'd felt like his service was being put to some use, that he was honestly doing _something_ to benefit the kingdom, being away from home wouldn't have seemed so bad. But he was useless out here. Loyalties might have been divided in the first settlement they came to, but the people lived together peacefully enough. Same with the second, and the third. Whatever territory was claimed on Camelot's behalf was done without protest, already belonging to Arthur in every way short of an official decree. The rest was business to be taken care of with ink and parchment, not endless leagues spent in the saddle and the implication that force would be used if necessary.

In the end, Lancelot was only obligated to draw his sword once throughout the entire mission, and that was to break up a tavern brawl, not to defend the interests of the kingdom.

He wanted to go home, a desire that was reflected back at him from the drawn, weary faces of the younger knights who'd followed him on this foolish endeavor. But he never heard a single one of them complain, not even when it stormed for a week and they were all forced to spend their days drenched to the bone, their nights huddled together beneath whatever outcroppings of rocks could be found. Inexperienced they might be, but they were good men. And like himself, both their skills and their loyalty were wasted out here.

The second month was easier, but that was only because Lancelot was too worn down to waste any more energy on frustration. After that, it was automatic – rise in the morning and muster the knights, climb into the saddle and ride. Do what was expected of him if they happened to reach one of their destinations, and if not, call for a halt just before sunset, then make sure the horses were tended and the men were fed. Following that, sleep…

Sleep, at least, came easy these days.

The final missive came during the tenth week; Lancelot accepted it from one of the youngest of the knights, a scrawny, half-grown lad with a sprinkling of freckles across his nose and a shock of sandy hair. Sighing deeply, he broke Arthur's familiar seal, expecting to be sent off to the next settlement or village that had no use for him or his men.

Instead, it was all he could do not to let out a shout of triumph.

_Lancelot,_

_You have done well on this mission. So well that I believe any lingering disputes over our borders have been fully resolved. Come home. Camelot is not the same without you._

_Arthur_

* * *

Gwen didn't hear from Lancelot for several days after receiving the flower with his message tucked inside. Her life went on as normal – seamstress work during the day and entertaining Arthur or sometimes Merlin in the evenings. But just underneath her calm facade was a sense of heady anticipation. When would she hear from him again? More importantly, when could they find a chance to be together?

In the end, it was Merlin who solved the mystery regarding the long silence when she ran into him as he was picking up some herbs for Gaius in the lower town.

"Look at that!" he crowed, pointing at something behind her. She turned around to see a noticeably weary Gwaine riding past, followed by a group of bedraggled young knights.

"Where have they been?"

Merlin looked at her in surprise. "You don't know? I thought for sure Arthur would've told you."

"Arthur hasn't been talking to me much about court business lately."

"Right," He said, nodding sagely. "Probably doesn't think it's very romantic."

She had to swallow the urge to tell him that Arthur wouldn't know what romance was if it jumped up and bit him on the backside.

"So where…?"

"They've been on a mission to secure the borders for the past two months. Gwaine, Leon, Lancelot… they each took their own troop of men. Did a pretty good job, too, from what I hear. Anyway, Lancelot got back the day before yesterday, and I expect we'll be seeing Leon soon enough."

"That's… that's wonderful!" Gwen said, treating him to a brilliant smile. "I have to go now. Tell Gaius I said hello!"

"Gwen, uh…"

But she was already off, grinning to herself as she absorbed the news. She'd had faith in Lancelot, but even after receiving his token, it had been difficult to completely silence the doubts in her mind. Two months, and not a single word. Having thought he was nearby while making no attempt to see her had been unnerving at least, downright distressing if she'd allowed herself to dwell on it too much. But after all, it wasn't that he hadn't _wanted_ to be with her. He'd had no choice in the matter.

Was he as desperate for her as she was for him after so much time apart? Gwen couldn't count the nights she'd spent alone in bed, nightgown pushed up around her waist as she'd slipped a hand between her thighs and touched herself, whispering his name in the darkness. Did he do the same? If so, did he close his eyes as she did, pretending she was there beside him, that it was her hands upon him instead of his own?

When she finally saw him again, however, there was no longer any need to question his desire for her. He showed up at her door one afternoon just a couple days later, holding one of his shirts and stating in a conspicuously elevated voice that he'd heard she was working as a seamstress now: how much would she charge to repair this tear for him?

Of course, it wasn't a tear at all; he'd obviously stuck his sword straight through the fabric. She fought the urge to grin.

"Two silver bits," she said, realizing she could've said 100 gold pieces and he would've agreed to the price. "If you'll be able to stop back by, I can have it ready for you in an hour."

For the first time, she dared to look up into his eyes, caught off guard by what she saw there. Love, need, desperation, all so intense that she very nearly forgot herself, reaching out her hand for his before she realized what she was doing. Hastily pulling it back, she bit her lip and forced herself to look away.

"I'll be here," he said softly, and then he was gone.

She found the note as soon as she went inside, spreading the shirt out on the table and then reaching for her needle and thread. There it was – a small scrap of parchment carefully pinned to the inside of one sleeve.

_I need to be with you, Gwen. I cannot wait any longer.  
Tell me how to make it happen, when and where I should meet you, and I will move heaven and earth to be there._

It wasn't easy to focus on mending after that, fingers shaking as she fumbled with the simple stitches. Even her handwriting was more sloppy than usual as she wrote down the time and destination she had in mind, followed by, " _Tonight_."

* * *

Gwen reached for her cloak and then changed her mind, smiling to herself as she untied the laces of her bodice instead. Stepping out of her dress and laying it aside, she pulled the light chemise over her head and dropped it on the floor, hesitating only briefly before loosening the ribbons that held her undergarments in place and pushing them down over her hips as well.

The warm summer breeze from the open window was like a caress on her naked skin; she closed her eyes and shivered, sighing in anticipation as she wrapped the voluminous cloak around herself, then opened the door and slipped outside to cross the short distance to the place where they would meet. There would be no skirts pushed up around her waist tonight, no breasts only half exposed, straining against the heavy, confining fabric of her corset. No, she wanted nothing between her body and Lancelot's... only the sweet friction of his bare skin sliding against hers.

The deserted building was largely empty, but there was a rough worktable in the middle of the room. Gwen eased her cloak off and spread it out to avoid splinters, frowning as she debated on what might appeal to Lancelot the most. She was eager for him, ready to be ravished without hesitation rather than slowly coaxed into a state of arousal that had already been present for quite some time.

Soon enough, she was seated in the middle of the table with her legs bent and knees slightly apart… suggestive, but not quite enough to leave herself exposed. She leaned back and braced her weight on her hands, arching her back slightly and feeling a little wicked at the way the pose pushed her breasts forward – round and full, gently rising and falling as she took several deep breaths to steady her nerves. Finally, she reached up and removed the clip from her hair, mussing her dark curls just a little so they tumbled wildly over her shoulders. 

And then, she waited.

Lancelot could move as silently as a cat, which was why she wasn't aware of his presence until she heard a sharp intake of breath from the shadows. For several heartbeats, there was nothing else; she could only assume he was momentarily stunned by the sight of her reclining naked on the table, illuminated by the soft moonlight coming in from the high windows on either side of the room. At least, she hoped so.

"Lancelot?" she whispered. "Are you there?"

And then he appeared, just a dark silhouette at first, then features brought into sharp relief as he stepped closer, his eyes burning with so much intensity that she couldn't help but tremble as they moved over her body. Her face… her lips… lingering on her breasts for a long moment as she heard him swallow hard, finally coming to rest on the slight gap between her knees that concealed the rest of her in shadow.

Her legs opened wide in response to the hunger in that gaze, a need so compelling it might as well have been the strength of his hands that pushed her thighs apart. And then she could hear him panting, soft, rasping sounds that echoed off the walls as his fingers scrambled to unbuckle the scabbard at his waist.

Clearly not wanting to waste time any more than she did, he released himself from his trousers and pushed them down halfway before grabbing her by the hips and pulling her to the edge of the table, plunging his fingers inside to determine her readiness. Groaning low in his throat, it was clear he'd felt what she'd already known; he licked the sweetness of her arousal from his fingertips, then reached down to position himself.

"Wait," she said, and he paused, not quite managing to disguise the fear in his eyes as he lifted them to meet hers. It would be agony for him to stop now, but she knew he would if she asked it of him. Instead, she put his anxieties to rest as she whispered, "Take your shirt off. Please. I want to see you."

His sigh of relief was so exaggerated it nearly made her giggle as he stripped off the offending garment and flung it away. Only for a moment though, as any thought of amusement was driven from her body by the first powerful thrust.

She cried out, her toes curling around the edge of the table as he pulled out and then slammed into her again with a shuddering groan. It couldn't last long with the pace he set after that, fast and deep, so relentless that it was difficult to tell where one thrust ended and the next began. All she could do was give voice to her need, then attempt to stifle the sounds for fear she was being loud enough to bring half of Camelot down on their heads.

But somehow, he managed to bring himself under control, switching to a rhythm that was slow and methodical and no less satisfying, at least for her. He wasn't looking at her face anymore; it took her a moment to realize where his attention was focused, but then she leaned forward, grabbing her knees for support as she looked down at what had him so mesmerized.

"Oh…"

The sight of his hardness gradually withdrawing and then pushing back into her with deliberate intent was both intensely arousing and intimate beyond description. That feeling was only magnified as he realized she was watching, too, pressing his forehead against hers with his warm breath caressing her face, then seeking out her lips for a brief but surprisingly tender kiss before returning his attention to the friction he was creating between them.

She wanted him to keep the pace slow and gentle, to draw out each penetration so she could feel every bit of him as she took him into herself. Just being able to see what she was feeling replaced the need for more intense stimulation; before she knew it, she was trembling, moaning softly at first and then in desperation as the sweet heat of arousal became a feverish need that was somehow exquisite and unbearable all at the same time.

"Gwen…"

He felt it too; his hips jerked forward, burying himself as deep as he could go and she fell to pieces, pulsing all around him and then clinging to his neck as she whimpered almost brokenly, her body going limp.

For a few minutes, he held her close against his chest, hips rocking only slightly as he focused on kissing her, his tongue tenderly stroking the recesses of her mouth. But she could feel his own swiftly growing need in the tension of his muscles, soon demanding to be satisfied without further delay. And then she was lying flat on the table, arching her back and crying out as he held her thighs apart and thrusted between them, fast and hard. Her restless hands couldn't reach him so she started touching herself… only her breasts at first, but then she was slipping her fingers between her slick, sensitive folds as he groaned his encouragement, and oh...

_"Yes, Gwen. Yes. Let me see..."_

Everything after that was a blur of friction and mingled cries of pleasure, ending with her own helpless sobs as he spilled his release inside her at the exact moment she came apart for the second time that night. And then she could only breathe, clinging to the trembling, sweat drenched body that was suddenly in her arms, kissing him softly as she felt his heart pounding in perfect time with her own.

It was only when she turned her head, seeking out some faint breeze to cool her heated face, that the world came crashing down around her.

They weren't alone.


	96. Laid Bare

#  **Chapter 96: Laid Bare**

* * *

"I don't see why you have to drag me along," Merlin grumbled as he followed the duo of cheerful knights through the deserted streets. "Can't I just go back to bed?"

"The game needs three players," Gwaine responded, patting the deck of cards in his pocket. "Besides, it's 2 o'clock in the morning. Can you think of anything better to do at this hour?"

"Yes. _Sleep_."

Elyan clapped him on the shoulder, an unusually affectionate gesture from such a reserved man. But then again, they'd both been drinking – neither had admitted as much, but Gwaine in particular smelled as if he'd taken a bath in a huge vat of ale.

"Come on, Merlin. When's the last time we had the chance to do something fun together?"

He sighed in resignation. "Fine. But I don't understand why we have to come all the way down here just to play cards."

Gwaine snorted, pulling out a small flask and taking a drink before handing it off to Elyan. "Stay in the palace with Arthur breathing down our necks? I think not."

Unable to help himself, Merlin burst out laughing. "You must be joking! Knights get away with all sorts of things and he never says a word. _I'm_ the one who has to watch his step no matter what I do."

"Please," Elyan said, rolling his eyes and then breaking out into a huge grin. "If we treated Arthur the way you do, he'd have us locked in the dungeons for the rest of our lives."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Never knocking before you enter his chambers," Gwaine pointed out.

"Calling him names," Elyan added. "In public, no less."

Merlin huffed indignantly. "I hardly ever do that."

"Prat?"

"Dollop-head?"

"Called him fat just last week."

"That's right," Gwaine said thoughtfully, throwing a heavy arm around Merlin's shoulders. "And wasn't it yesterday when you referred to him as a 'stubborn jackass'? Pretty sure he heard you. Didn't do a thing about it, did he?"

"Oh yeah!" Elyan chimed in. "And what about the time you said he's as pompous as a…"

"All right!" Merlin exclaimed, throwing his hands up in surrender. "But that doesn't mean… well, just wait until tomorrow then. See how much I can get away with when I'm too tired to clean his chambers."

"You're never too tired."

"I…" But then he changed the subject, deciding it was useless to carry on with an argument that would only go in circles. "Elyan, are you sure this won't be a problem? Did you talk to Gwen about it?"

Elyan scoffed. "Why should I? It's _my_ forge."

"Yeah, but technically, wasn't she the one who inherited it? You know, since you weren't here when… nevermind."

"What could a woman possibly want with a blacksmith forge?"

"You might be surprised," Gwaine said, pausing to let out a soft belch before he continued. "Met a blacksmith a few years ago who happened to be a woman. Called her Black-fisted Bess... hands were always covered in soot, you know. She repaired a broken sword hilt for me and did a fine job of it if I say so myself."

Elyan shook his head in disbelief. "I'm surprised her family allowed her to take up such an inappropriate profession."

"Don't think she asked anyone's permission, my friend. The best ones never do."

"What? You're mad! I'd die of shame if Gwen ever… wait a minute. Speaking of swords, where's mine?"

"Ah, you don't need it," Gwaine said carelessly. "I didn't bring mine. Plenty of guards on duty tonight and besides, it's just going to be the three of us."

But Elyan was already turning back. "I don't feel right without it. Just go on without me. I'll catch up."

Gwaine chuckled, shaking his head as the other man scampered away. "Takes himself too seriously, that one does. 'Arthur this' and 'Arthur that', and 'Gwaine, a proper knight would _never_ hide live chickens in his quarters!' Come on, Merlin. Here, have some of this."

Reluctantly accepting the flask, Merlin frowned. "Live chickens?"

"Sure. Was planning on playing a prank on Percival," he said matter-of-factly, striding up to the door of the forge and pulling it open with a flourish. He slipped inside and Merlin hurried after him, unable to restrain his curiosity.

"What did you do to Perciv...?"

But Gwaine was staring beyond him, looking like a man who'd just seen a ghost.

"Table," he muttered in a strange voice, and Merlin turned around, his mouth falling open in shock just as hers cried out in ecstasy.

Gwen was lying there naked, legs spread wide and held firmly in place by the man who stood between them, half concealed in shadow. Her bare skin was slick with sweat beneath the moonlight, full, lush breasts swaying violently in time with his swift, pounding thrusts. Eyes fluttering closed, she moaned in helpless abandon, her face an exquisite mask of pleasure as she remained oblivious to the shocked onlookers hovering just inside the door.

"I'll be damned," Gwaine said under his breath, though he might as well have shouted it; the couple making love just a few paces away were lost to all else but each other.

Merlin gaped at Gwen in horrified fascination as her hands glided over her naked flesh, lifting, kneading, caressing her breasts with soft little sighs of pleasure. Meanwhile, the man had realized what she was doing, too, groaning in unmistakable approval as she rubbed her thumbs across her taut nipples, gasping at the friction as she did so.

"Yes…" came a hoarse whisper Merlin didn't recognize.

She opened her eyes and gazed up at her lover as one hand drifted lower, sliding over her stomach and disappearing between her thighs.

"Yes, Gwen. Yes. Let me see..."

The man stared down at the place where their bodies were joined, mesmerized by the sight of Gwen pleasuring herself as his hips slowed for a moment, then resumed their frenetic pace with even more intensity than before. Just a dark head and a shadowed profile, well-defined muscles rigid with tension as he strained for a climax that couldn't be far off, judging by the harsh, ragged sounds he was making. Who...?

But did it really matter? It obviously wasn't Arthur.

And then he swore under his breath and gave a violent shudder, his hips jerking out of rhythm just as Gwen arched her back, her body trembling beneath the power of her release. 

"Lancelot..." she whimpered softly, exposing his identity to their stunned audience just as a shaft of moonlight fell on his upturned face. There he was – head thrown back and eyes unfocused, his painfully familiar features going slack with relief as he pushed into her much more gently a handful of times, and then finally withdrew.

Merlin stared, aghast, as Lancelot slumped over into her outstretched arms, laying his head between her breasts as he closed his eyes with a sigh of contentment. The kisses they were soon exchanging were slow and tender, the intimacy between them coming across as far too comfortable to believe this was the first time this had happened.

_Oh, Lancelot, what have you done? Gwen, how could you?_

He had to say something – he _had_ to – but all he could do was stare at them, naked and unashamed and so obviously in love, wrapped in each other's arms like they had every right to be that way. What could he possibly say when he felt so sick and strange, hardly able to absorb the enormity of what this meant? These were two of the people he loved most in the world, but they should've never, _ever_ felt this way about each other, or allowed something like this to happen even if they did. No… not when the price to be paid was Arthur's broken heart... not when the kingdom's future could be threatened by this single act of betrayal.

How could he even begin to make them understand the potential consequences of what they'd done? When Arthur found out…

 _If_ Arthur found out…

In the end, Merlin was saved from the awkwardness of announcing his and Gwaine's presence as Gwen turned her head in their direction, her sleepy, satisfied gaze immediately replaced by wide-eyed horror. She let out a sharp gasp, prompting Lancelot to lift his own head, looking down at her in bleary-eyed confusion before following the direction of her eyes.

"Good lord," he whispered hoarsely, and then he was on his feet again, tugging frantically at the trousers that were tangled around his knees. He blinked once or twice, hard, rubbing a hand across his eyes as if he wanted to believe the sight of them was just some unpleasant dream from which he'd soon awaken.

"Afraid we're real, my friend," Gwaine said quietly. "No getting around that."

"This isn't..." Lancelot sputtered, moving closer to Gwen as if to shield her from the truth of what they'd just seen. "You don't understand. Please, we..."

It didn't seem as if the situation could get any worse... until Merlin's ears picked up on the soft sound of footsteps just outside the door.

" _Elyan!_ " he hissed urgently. "Gwaine, you've got to stop him!"

But it was too late – Elyan was already pushing his way inside, and despite Gwaine's valiant efforts to spin him around and steer him in the opposite direction, he'd spotted the couple beneath the taller man's arm. Merlin followed his eyes and saw what he did, a brief flash of Lancelot's naked backside as he pulled up his trousers, along with a glimpse of Gwen's bare breasts as she struggled to wrap her cloak around herself. It was hardly anything compared with what had been going on just a few minutes before, of course, but it was still enough to condemn them both.

The initial confusion was to be expected, as was the dawning awareness and the expression of anger that swiftly followed. Merlin had been through all those emotions himself. But what he didn't expect was for Elyan's features to dissolve into a mask of twisted fury as his hand dropped to the scabbard at his waist.

"I will kill you for this," he swore softly, his glittering black eyes fixed directly on Lancelot.

* * *

"Gwen, get back!" Lancelot gasped, ducking to avoid the first blow and then half crawling across the floor, grappling desperately for his sword. It was a few feet away, but he never reached it; Elyan was closer, realized what he was trying to do, and kicked it savagely, giving a satisfied grunt as it hit the far wall with a deafening clatter.

"Elyan, what are you doing?! No, _stop!_ " Gwen cried out, instinct overruling common sense as she grabbed for her brother's arm. She'd never know if it were merely a reflex or a calculated blow; suddenly she was lying on the floor stunned, raising her fingers to touch the welt that was already rising on her cheek.

And then Gwaine was beside her, pulling her to her feet and dragging her back to the relative safety of the doorway. He was calling out, too, even as she renewed her pleas, shouting at Elyan to stop, reminding him that Lancelot was unarmed and it would be murder to run him through. Merlin joined them after a moment, but it was all for nothing. Elyan was like a man possessed, sword flashing through the air as he spat an endless stream of abuse at Lancelot.

"Can't you _do_ something?!"

"No sword," Gwaine said briefly, "and no time to go and get one either. Elyan! Damn it, man! _Stop this!"_

"Merlin, do something! _Please!_ "

"Gwen, you know I can barely use a sword, even if I had one. Elyan? Elyan! Come on, stop and we can talk about this. You don't want to do something you'll regret!"

"I won't regret it," Elyan snarled, in fast pursuit as Lancelot made another futile attempt to reach his sword. "Best thing I'll ever do."

"You don't mean that," Merlin said, his voice shaking. "A knight killing another knight in cold blood? You'll be executed! Think about what you're doing!"

"Executed? For killing a _traitor?_ " Elyan's blade slashed wildly through the air, missing Lancelot's bare stomach by inches as the latter took a nimble step backward, then swerved to the left to avoid another forward thrust.

"Not like this," Lancelot pleaded with him, panting hard as he spoke. "Not in front of her. Gwaine! Take Gwen... get her away from here! She doesn't need to see..."

"She'll see your insides before I'm through with you!" Elyan growled, charging forward again.

" _No!_ " Gwen threw off the hand that closed around her elbow. "Elyan, _please!_ Let's just talk about this!"

But Elyan paid her no heed as his sword crashed into the wall, a savage blow that would've decapitated Lancelot if his reflexes had been even a touch slower than they were.

"Merlin!" she screamed, too terrified to think straight any longer. "Make him stop!"

"Gwen, I told you I can't…"

" _Use your magic!_ "

The two men locked in mortal combat remained oblivious, but she heard Gwaine let out a soft gasp as Merlin's arm grew rigid beneath her clutching hands.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She swore aloud, fighting to swallow her panic as Lancelot stumbled over what must've been a piece of abandoned equipment. He recovered gracefully, strafing to one side and managing to put a large stack of firewood between himself and his enraged opponent, taking a moment to catch his breath before fending off another charge. His defensive maneuvers were without equal, but the fact remained that he was weaponless, with no sword of his own to block the brutal swings and no armor to protect him either. How long could he hope to hold Elyan off?

If he could just reach his sword…

Did she want that? No doubt the fight would be over in a matter of seconds then, but at what cost? She couldn't lose Lancelot – just the thought of it made her stomach churn with nausea. But she didn't want Elyan to die either; despite all the friction between them, he was still her brother and the only family she had left in the world.

But if it came down to one or the other… no, she shouldn't think that way. Not when there was still another solution.

"Merlin, _please!_ "

"Gwen, I don't _have_ …"

Just then, Elyan lunged forward, managing to score the first hit as a long, shallow cut appeared on Lancelot's chest.

"Merlin, this isn't the time for your lies!" she shrieked hysterically. "I know what you can do! I've _seen_ it! Now put an end to this, or I'll tell Arthur what I know! And that's a lot more than you think!"

"I… I'll deny it," Merlin sputtered. "Because it isn't true!"

"It is, and I can prove it. Now _make this stop!_ How can you…?"

"If she's telling the truth," Gwaine interrupted quietly, "then do as she asks. I'd rather not see a friend die tonight, no matter what he's done."

"Gwaine, I _can't_. I mean, I don't..."

Unable to help herself, Gwen started to cry. "Merlin, I've known the truth for a long time," she said, watching anxiously as Lancelot blocked a succession of quick jabs with the thick chunk of firewood that was clutched tightly in his hands. "I didn't tell anyone before, and I won't say anything now. Whatever you think of either of us after what you saw, you know Lancelot doesn't deserve to die. You _know_ that."

"I know," Merlin said quietly. And then shooting Gwaine a look that could only be described as terrified, he held out a hand in Elyan's direction, then muttered a few words in a language Gwen didn't understand.

Elyan let out a sharp yelp, dropping the sword that was suddenly red-hot as he hunched over and clutched his injured hand. He didn't look deranged as he had before, just resentful and furious as he glared at each of them in turn.

"Should've stopped when you were told to," Gwaine said, sounding much more like his normal carefree self.

"Elyan…" Gwen started.

He snarled in her direction. "Don't speak to me, whore."

None of them had noticed that Lancelot had retrieved his own sword until they turned to find him standing just a few feet away, long silver blade glinting wickedly in the moonlight.

"Call her that again," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "and I'll slice you open from throat to belly."


	97. Confrontation

#  **Chapter 97: Confrontation**

* * *

"Lower your sword, Lancelot," Gwaine said quietly.

To his credit, Lancelot did so immediately, though he was still glaring daggers at Elyan, as if the slightest movement would have him charging forward for the kill. Gwaine couldn't blame him, really – nasty business on Elyan's part, attacking an unarmed man like that.

"All right, we've got ourselves a bit of a mess here, haven't we?" he started, trying to sound as relaxed as possible. It wasn't working, naturally, but _someone_ had to take control before things got even more out of hand. He sure as hell couldn't count on any of the others to do it – two were obviously on the verge of committing murder, one looked as if he were expecting to be dragged off to the executioner's block at any second, and Gwen was still crying softly, one hand pressed against her injured cheek.

"Right... first things first. Who's hurt? Elyan?"

"I'm fine."

"No you're not. Got a nasty burn on your hand there. Lancelot?"

"Nothing. Just a scratch."

Gwaine sighed. "Gwen?"

"My cheek is swollen and I think I might have a black eye."

Unable to help himself, he snorted. "Always said women had more common sense than men. There's your proof."

"Gwen? _What...?_ "

Before anyone realized what was happening, Lancelot was at Gwen's side, pulling her hand away from her face to inspect the welt and then spinning around with his eyes full of fury. There was no way to stop him, only a blur of motion followed by the sound of a fist connecting with flesh, and then Elyan was on the floor with his hand covering his nose, blood dripping from his fingers as he stared up at the man who'd hit him, too stunned to react.

"Lancelot, _please!_ I'm all right, just don't… he's my brother!"

It was a good thing she said something when she did; Lancelot was standing over Elyan with his sword half out of its sheath, eyes wild and nostrils flaring, clearly beyond rational thought. But something in her words… maybe the way she said them or even just the fact that it was Gwen who was speaking broke through his rage somehow. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, and when he opened them again, looked a little more like himself... still angry, but restrained.

"As I was saying," Gwaine went on, doing his best to sound nonchalant. "Injuries. Looks like we have a burned hand, a couple of shallow cuts, a bruised cheek and a black eye, and a face… well, Elyan… let's just say it's fortunate the women don't go for you for your looks."

Elyan muttered something nasty under his breath, but there was no real malice behind it.

"What are we supposed to do?" Merlin whispered, speaking for the first time since his own stunning revelation. "We can't take them to Gaius."

"Definitely not. Don't suppose you can do something with your…" and then he waved his hand around, spouting a few words of gibberish. Unable to help himself, Merlin smiled.

"Not really. I mean, I could try, but I've never done much…"

Gwaine shook his head, giving him what he hoped was a comforting smile. "Forget it. Not like any of them are dying."

"Well, we can't take care of them here."

"What about Gwen's house? I'm sure she has water and clean rags, stuff like that. Should be all we need."

Merlin frowned. "But what if someone sees us?"

"Good point," he said thoughtfully, studying the battered appearance of the others. Lancelot and Gwen were clearly only concerned with each other at the moment, for all that they were pretending not to be, and Elyan was still sitting off by himself, shooting them the occasional evil glare as he held the hem of his shirt to his face to stem the flow of his bloody nose.

"I mean, it's obvious what happened," Merlin started. "They..."

"Of course it's obvious. You, me, Lancelot and Elyan came down here to play cards. Had a bit too much to drink and then the betting started, and well… disagreements between friends are always unfortunate, but you know. It happens."

"Wow," Merlin said quietly.

Gwaine preened just a little. "I know. Even amaze myself sometimes."

"But what about Gwen?"

"She, ah… heard the disturbance and came to investigate, being as it's her own property and all. Had a nasty fall along the way. Pretty dark outside, you know… hard to see where you're going, especially when you're half-asleep."

"Yeah, I suppose that could work."

"The rest of you got that?" Gwaine called a little more loudly, nodding in satisfaction at the chorus of uncertain assent.

* * *

"I just want to know two things," Elyan said, wincing as Merlin wrapped a makeshift bandage around his injured hand. "How long has this been going on... and how the _hell_ did it happen in the first place?"

Gwen looked at him for a long moment, then shook her head. "That's none of your concern."

"None of my... _you betray my king!_ And you have the audacity to say..."

"Actually," Merlin said quietly. "I'd like to know, too."

Gwaine had already dressed Lancelot's minor wound, who was now kneeling beside Gwen's chair holding a cool compress to her cheek. Making more of a fuss over her than necessary, really, but that was to be expected. Hell, when it came down to it, Gwaine couldn't say he was the least bit surprised they were fooling around behind Arthur's back. Not too thrilled to be caught in the middle, perhaps, but he definitely wasn't feeling the way Merlin was, his expression so distraught that anyone who didn't know better would think he was the cuckold himself.

"It's complicated," Lancelot started carefully. "Before Arthur, well…"

" _You gave her up!"_ Merlin hissed, rising halfway out of his chair and bracing his hands on the table. "That morning in the forest, you _told_ me… you said…"

"I know what I said. I'll never forget it for as long as I live, believe me. I made the biggest mistake of my life that day."

Merlin shook his head emphatically. "How can you say that? You did it because you knew Arthur had feelings for her! You weren't mistaken about that, isn't that obvious by now?! He _loves_ her! How could you do something so noble and unselfish, and then turn around and…?"

"Because it was neither noble or unselfish," Lancelot said quietly.

"Of course it was! You set aside your own happiness for Arthur's sake, because you understood…"

"What about my happiness?" Gwen whispered, unconsciously shifting closer to Lancelot.

"Yours too, Gwen! Because he _knew_ you'd be better off with Arthur, that Arthur needed you, and…"

Gwaine couldn't stay quiet any longer. "Seems no one bothered to ask the lady herself what she thought was best for her. Rather big oversight, if you ask me, and I believe that's why we're in this mess now. Wasn't wrong for Lancelot to get around to considering her opinion – only problem is that he waited a little too long to do it."

Lancelot nodded slightly, as Gwen whispered, "Yes."

"This is absurd!" Elyan suddenly burst out. "I have no idea what happened in the past, but what they've done…"

"No," Gwen said coldly. "You don't know. Need I remind you that you weren't around for any of this, or why? You're in no position to judge me, Elyan, nor to comment on things you don't know the first thing about. I'd appreciate it if you'd…"

Elyan was on his feet before she could finish; Gwaine suspected it was only Lancelot's hand resting conspicuously on the pommel of his sword that kept the other man from advancing on his sister. "Whatever I did in the past, I've spent every day since trying to redeem myself, to build a better life. And you… you've put all that at risk with what you've done, brought shame and dishonor upon my head, and all for _what_ , Gwen? Arthur isn't enough for you? Wealth, privilege, a chance to be queen, offered to you on a silver platter by a man who obviously loves you, and you turn around and…"

"You don't understand..."

"How could you do it, Gwen?" Merlin interrupted, his eyes full of betrayal. "It doesn't make any sense. You _love_ Arthur. You've always been happy with him. He's good to you and, well… you belong together! I've always known that. I thought you did, too!"

"Enough," Lancelot said quietly, as tears streamed down Gwen's face. "Say what you will to me, but…"

"You have no right to make the rules here!" Elyan spat at him. 

"Elyan?"

"What?" he snapped, turning around to look at Gwaine.

"Shut up."

Amazingly, he did… though it probably had more to do with shock at being spoken to so bluntly than any desire to be accommodating. The man was a pain in the ass, really.

"Whatever anyone thinks, or who did what to whom, there's no way we can figure this out tonight," Gwaine said, looking around at the distraught faces of his friends. "Can we all agree on that, at least?" When the others nodded their assent, he continued. "The way I see it, there are secrets we all know. Big ones. Secrets that could hurt a lot of people if they got out. I say we all do our best to make sure that doesn't happen... at least until we've had a chance to figure out what's to be done from here."

"I can answer that right now," Elyan interrupted, glaring at his sister. " _You_ are going to stay the hell away from him. And _you_ won't be getting anywhere near her, or I'll…"

"Elyan?"

"What?!"

" _Shut up_."

Merlin cleared his throat, glancing around the room nervously. "About the magic…"

"What magic?" Elyan demanded, his eyes suddenly wide. "Wait a minute! My hand! That's how… not only is he a traitor, he's also a sorcerer?!"

"Oh, for the love of…" Gwaine dropped his head in his hands, letting out a heavy sigh. "Lancelot is not a sorcerer."

"Then who burned me?"

There was a long silence; out of the corner of his eye, Gwaine saw Merlin's mouth open and close, his eyes full of fear as he swallowed hard. "It wasn't Lancelot," he finally muttered. "It was…"

"Me."

They all turned to stare at Gwen.

"You're a witch?" Elyan said incredulously.

She appeared as shocked as anyone else by her confession, but then she let out an exaggerated sigh of exasperation as she glared at her brother. "Of course I'm not a witch. I've never used magic in my life, other than whatever I did tonight. I heard Morgana say those words once, and I tried it… I guess it worked. I had to do _something_ , Elyan. You were about to kill him."

"But if it worked, that has to mean you have…"

"Not necessarily," Gwaine hastily interjected. "Found a spell written on a piece of paper once. Didn't know what it was, so I read it aloud. Set a table on fire."

"What happened then?" Merlin asked him, looking both vaguely amused and intensely relieved.

"Well, let's just say there's one tavern we won't be visiting if we ever find ourselves passing south of the White Mountains. Quite sure I wore out my welcome in that place. Sad thing, too; had a barmaid there with the prettiest set of…"

Gwen cleared her throat rather pointedly.

"… blue eyes I've ever seen," he finished with a flourish, giving her a sly little wink. She giggled – only briefly before she remembered herself, but it was still nice to hear. And there was Lancelot, not even realizing he was gazing down at her like she was personally responsible for hanging the moon and stars in the sky.

No, there _definitely_ wasn't going to be any easy way out of this one.

* * *

"Why?"

Merlin was standing by the window, staring out over the city with unfocused eyes as Lancelot sat quietly on the bed. They'd come straight to the physician's quarters after leaving Gwen's house right around dawn; Gaius had given them a curious look, but said nothing as they'd passed him with a hasty greeting, refusing his offer of breakfast in favor of shutting themselves up in Merlin's tiny bedchamber.

"I wish I could make you understand," Lancelot responded, plucking at the rough woolen blanket that covered the bed. It was strange that everything in the room looked exactly the same as it always had, when the rest of his world had undergone so many tremendous changes. Was it comforting? He couldn't quite decide.

"Try."

"I love her. I always have. And I know now that I always will."

"Right. But I thought that's why you wanted to do what was best for her. Why you gave her up in the first place, and why you stood by that decision even after you returned. What happened, Lancelot? Why did you go back on your word? Everything you believed in, your loyalty to Arthur…"

Lancelot sighed deeply, burying his head in his hands. "The last thing I ever wanted to do…"

"Do you remember what you said to me about him?" Merlin interjected, fluctuating between anger and bewilderment. "That night when we were on the way to the Isle of the Blessed? It wasn't so long ago. You said ' He loves her, and she's happy.'"

"I know, Merlin, but…"

"You _also_ said, 'Arthur's a better man than me.'"

"Yes, I did. But whatever my reasons have been for pushing my own feelings aside in the past, I wasn't considering the only thing that truly mattered in all of this."

"What's that?"

Lancelot met his eyes directly, even though the pain and confusion he saw there were enough to break his heart. "How Gwen felt. What she wanted. Not what I _thought_ she wanted or what she _should_ want. I was wrong to disregard her feelings."

"She wanted _Arthur!_ She was _happy_ with him, Lancelot! You weren't here for… you don't know… they were more in love than any two people I've ever seen, until…"

 _… until you came back and ruined everything._

Merlin never said it aloud, but the implication was clear.

Sucking in a deep breath, Lancelot studied him for a moment. "Is that the truth, or simply what you wanted to believe?"

"It's the _truth_ ," Merlin said, his voice hard. But then he softened, sinking down onto the bed with a heavy sigh. "I don't want to be mad at you, Lancelot. You're my friend, and after everything you've done for me…"

"You have a right to be angry. I cannot excuse what I've done. I only want you to know that I never intended to hurt anyone through my actions. Not Arthur, and especially not you. I hate that I have, and I wish there was something I could do to make it right. Something that would make you understand why…"

Merlin turned to him, his blue eyes suddenly bright with excitement. "There is! We can _still_ make this right, and Arthur will never have to know!"

"How?"

"You can leave again! Not forever, of course, just for a year or two. It's not that I _want_ you to go, but think about it… Gwen was happy with Arthur last time you did. She found a way to move on, and surely she will again. If you're not here, she'll remember all the reasons she fell in love with Arthur in the first place, and then they can be married, and…"

Just for a second, Lancelot considered the suggestion, as it was the best way to ensure Gwen would never have to suffer the consequences for what they'd done. No more fear, no more secrecy, never forced to face the shame if the truth came out into the light. What had happened the previous night had frightened him deeply; he could no longer convince himself that if they were just exceedingly careful, no one would ever have to discover the truth. Fool... he should've known someone would've caught them sooner or later.

Yet those realizations changed nothing. He'd come this far; there was no going back.

"No, Merlin," he said quietly.

"But…"

"I will not do that to Gwen. Not again."

"But you'd be _protecting_ her! Doing what's best for her and Arthur, too! Can't you see that? Lancelot, I know it isn't easy. But sometimes you have to put your own feelings aside and do what's right."

"I could put my own feelings aside if Gwen told me that was what she wanted. I wouldn't hesitate for a second. But I will not take the choice out of her hands again, no matter what anyone else has to say about it. It's her decision – whether I stay or go, what passes between us and what does not. This is the only way I have to make amends for how I've wronged her in the past, by not repeating my mistakes."

"So…" Merlin was staring at him like he was a stranger, and that hurt more than words could describe. "You're saying you'll continue with this unless she puts a stop to it?"

"Yes."

"But you're lying to Arthur! Your friends!"

"I know," Lancelot said quietly. "Believe me when I say I'm not proud of it. But it's my hope that we'll find a way out of this when the time comes… that there might still be a way for us to be together in the end."

" _That will never happen!_ " Merlin nearly shouted. "She's supposed to marry Arthur! That is her _destiny_."

"How do you know that?"

"I… I just feel it, okay? I've always known it. She brings out the best in him, makes him a better person, and… well, it just makes sense! It's part of the plan, what Arthur and I, and yes, Gwen herself have dreamed of for years. You can't just…"

"If Gwen wishes to marry Arthur, I will not stand in her way. But I'm not sure it's as simple as that. Not for her."

"She's _confused!_ " Merlin insisted. "That's all it is. She doesn't know _what_ she feels right now, which isn't surprising with the way you're dealing with this. That's why we have to…"

"No, Merlin. I will not do anything to manipulate her feelings. Not this time."

"Manipulation?! That's not what I'm suggesting at all! You're just making excuses because you can't give her up! It's selfish, and wrong, and…"

"Do you intend to tell Arthur?"

Merlin stared at him for a long moment. "No. But I _am_ going to go talk to Gwen. Maybe there's still one of you who will listen to reason."


	98. Good Intentions

#  **Chapter 98: Good Intentions**

* * *

"Can I come in?"

"Of course," Gwen said in a subdued voice, then stepped aside to let Merlin pass. "Please, have a seat. Would you like anything to eat or drink?"

"No, I'm fine. I just wanted to… Gwen, your face!"

She ducked her head, rearranging her loose curls so at least most of the injured side was covered. "I'm all right."

"I know, but it looks awful!"

"Thanks," she said flatly.

"No, I didn't mean… I just meant… what are you going to tell Arthur?"

It was a loaded question, one that really didn't have much to do with a black eye and a swollen cheek.

"I don't know. I figured I'd just use the excuse Gwaine gave us last night."

Merlin frowned. "What if he doesn't believe you?"

"Arthur believes what's convenient."

She cringed, because that was another comment that implied so much more than she'd intended. It was like there was a trap waiting whenever either of them opened their mouths. Gathering her courage, she decided to stop dancing around the subject since it was all either of them had to be thinking about anyway.

"What happened with the others?"

"Gwaine took Elyan somewhere to calm him down. I don't know what happened after that, but he was definitely in the right hands."

Gwen nodded. "I hope so. His behavior last night was out of control."

"Can you blame him?"

She glared at Merlin, but decided to let the comment pass. "They won't tell?"

"I trust Gwaine. Honestly, he didn't even seem upset about my…"

"Magic?"

"Yeah. He just said my secret was safe with him, as long as I didn't start turning people into toads or setting things on fire for no good reason. Said he understood with the way the laws were and everything. And Elyan doesn't even know, thankfully, so…"

"So you're safe."

"I think so. Unless you…"

She looked at him sadly. "Merlin, don't you know me better than that?"

"I thought I did."

"What happened with Lancelot… I know you don't understand, but I would never… I'm your friend, Merlin, and I know how dangerous it can be for people like you. I've lived in Camelot all my life, remember?"

"How did you find out? Did Lancelot tell you?"

"Of course not. It was the night before all of you went to rescue the king – Uther, I mean – and you were trying to figure out how to defeat Morgana and her immortal army. You and Lancelot were whispering in the dark, and…"

"I remember. You've known for _that_ long? You never said anything."

"At first, I wasn't sure whether or not I could trust you, and even after I'd come to the realization that you'd never do anything to harm Arthur or the rest of us, I just didn't know how to bring it up. It's not like talking to someone about the weather, you know."

He gave her a small smile. "Yeah, I guess I can understand that. So you're not going to tell?"

"No. Are you?"

The smile abruptly faded, as if it had never been there at all. "I should. But I won't."

She let out a sigh of relief. "The others?"

"I think you're safe with Gwaine. Don't think he wants to get any more mixed up in it than he already is. As for your brother, appearances mean a lot to him. I think for that reason alone, he'll keep quiet."

"I'm sorry you had to find out the way you did," she said after a moment, feeling her face flush with embarrassment. "That had to have been a shock. How… how much did you see?"

He arched an eyebrow at her in a rather impressive imitation of Gaius. "Do you really want me to describe it?"

"No."

"How long have the two of you been… meeting like that? Because I know that wasn't the first time."

"It's only been a few months."

"A few _months?!_ Gwen, what were you thinking?!"

She swallowed hard. "I… I was thinking I wanted to be with the man I love. I was thinking that if we were careful, no one would ever have to know. I was thinking…"

" _Arthur_ is the man you love! Or have you forgotten everything that has happened between you two over the past few years?"

"Merlin, when this first started, Arthur had severed our relationship. Do you remember that? The night before all of you went off to battle?"

"Okay, so you were hurt. Maybe you were lonely, or thought his decision was permanent. I… I suppose I can understand why you would've turned to someone else. But when he came back, Gwen, when he realized he'd made a mistake and you accepted his apology, why did you keep doing it? Was it because you were still mad at him? Because he was really sorry about what he did, I know he was, and you shouldn't have…"

"Merlin, just stop. It had nothing to do with Arthur, certainly not any hard feelings I might have had toward him. It was just…"

"You've never done that with Arthur," he suddenly said. "What you were doing last night, I mean. Maybe that's the problem. But if you can just try it with him instead of Lancelot…"

"Merlin!" Gwen stared at him in shock. "How do you even…? Nevermind. I don't think I want an explanation."

"You know, if Lancelot left Camelot for a couple years, things could go back to normal around here. You'd remember all the reasons you fell in love with Arthur, and then the two of you could get married, and everything would work out for the best. I tried to tell Lancelot…"

"You said that to _Lancelot?!_ Oh, Merlin, tell me you didn't… that he hasn't…" Her hands were shaking beneath the table as she fought to control her panic. _Not again, please_ …

"Of course I told him. Not that it did any good. Honestly, Gwen, it looks like you're going to have to be the strong one this time, because he's not even being rational."

"What did he say?"

Merlin let out an exasperated sigh. "Oh, just more of what he was telling us last night. That he made a mistake before and he wasn't going to do it again. Said it was your choice, not his, and until you told him to leave, he was staying right where he was."

She had to struggle to hide a smile. "Did he?"

"Gwen, tell him to go. He'll listen to you. I know we'll all miss him, but it's the best way out of this. You're going to marry Arthur and become queen, and… well, you've known all along it was coming to that. It's something you've dreamed about for years! I understand you're confused right now; you made a mistake and it got out of hand. But we can still fix it, pretend like it never happened. Arthur never has to know. It can just go back to the way it was before, and…"

"I don't want it to be the way it was before," she whispered, afraid to meet his eyes.

"Gwen, think about what you're saying!"

"I don't know what I'm doing right now. I know I love them both in different ways. I know Arthur needs me, now more than ever, but at the same time, what I feel for Lancelot…"

Merlin leaned forward, reaching out to clutch the hands she'd just placed back on the table. "See! You said it yourself. He _needs_ you, Gwen! The way Arthur is with you… you bring out the best in him in ways that no one else can. _No one_. Do you realize what that means? What you could do for yourself, your friends, the entire kingdom? It's not just the love between two people that you have with Arthur. It's so much more than that, it's…"

"I know," she said quietly. "Why do you think I'm still with him?"

"Yes! And that's exactly where you _should_ be. Gwen, you just have to stop…"

And then they both froze at the sound of a familiar knock on the door. Gwen rose to her feet and hurried to open it, surprised to find it had grown dark outside. But that was nothing compared to Arthur's shock as he saw the bruise she'd nearly forgotten about.

"Guinevere, who on earth did that to your face?!"

She managed a wan smile as she closed the door behind him. "Please have a seat, Arthur, and I'll explain. Would you like something to drink?"

"Yes, whatever you have. Merlin, what are you doing here?"

"Actually, I was just leaving."

"Right, then. Make sure you turn down my bed before you retire for the evening. Now, Guinevere, sit down and tell me what happened. And rest assured that whoever did this will be in the dungeons by morning."

"Arthur, I…" She sank back into her seat, and then trailed off on a sigh. Her secret might be safe for the time being, but all the same, it was going to be a long night.

* * *

"How you doing there?"

Lancelot looked up to find Gwaine standing in his doorway, then set aside the bandage he'd just removed and looked down at the faint mark on his chest. "Well enough," he responded, reaching for his shirt. "It was hardly anything to begin with. Just a scratch."

Gwaine closed the door behind him, then sauntered over to the table where he dropped into a chair. "Got any more of that wine?"

"Yes, of course."

A few minutes later, they were seated across from one another, pretending to be completely absorbed in their drinks while avoiding each other's eyes. It was Lancelot who finally broke the uncomfortable silence.

"You've come for an explanation."

"What? No, not exactly. I mean, I hardly need one – known all along how you felt about each other. Doesn't take a genius to figure out that's not just going to go away."

Lancelot lifted his eyes and stared at him, cautiously hopeful. "You mean you understand?"

"I do," Gwaine nodded. "Doesn't mean I'm happy about it though, or that I agree with what you're doing. I might give Arthur a hard time, but he's a good man. He doesn't deserve this."

"I know he doesn't. I just… I can't help it, Gwaine. The way I feel about her, to know that she feels the same way?"

"I get it," he said. "No faking what I saw the other night, that's for sure. But…"

"How much did you see?" Lancelot said, finally addressing the one thing he'd been trying very hard not to think about.

"You. Her. Moaning. Sweating. Groping. Thrusting."

"All right, I get the picture."

But Gwaine wasn't finished. Even worse, he seemed to be actively enjoying himself. "You between her thighs, pounding away like a… well, let's just say that was damn impressive. Good stamina you've got there."

"Gwaine…"

"She seemed to think so, too, wailing like a banshee and all. Who would've guessed she'd be the type to go wild in bed… or on a blacksmith's table, as it were? And those tits of hers... hell, a man would forget king and country and everything in between just to get his hands on a pair as pretty as those."

" _Gwaine!_ "

"Yes?" he said, giving Lancelot an innocent look.

"Remember what I did to Elyan's face?"

"Of course. Percival has been making fun of him nonstop for the past three days."

"Would you like me to do the same to yours?"

"Ah, relax." He paused to take a long drink of wine. "I meant no disrespect. Just trying to lighten the mood."

"Well, I'm sure you can think of ways to do that without talking about Gwen's…"

"Tits?" he said, giving Lancelot an exaggerated leer. "All right! Okay, I'll stop. You're right. I came here to see if I could help you sort this out, not make your head explode. So tell me – if you love her and she loves you, what's she still doing with Arthur?"

"It's… complicated."

"I'm sure I can keep up. Tell me."

Lancelot let out a heavy sigh. "It's about Agravaine, mostly. Gwen has always had a way of getting through to Arthur. He listens to her. And she just felt that… we both agreed that under the circumstances…"

"So basically, she's sticking around to be his advisor, under the guise of being in love with him."

"It isn't like… she does love him."

Gwaine leaned back in his chair. "Of course she does. But not the way she loves you, am I right? Nevermind, don't need an answer to that one. I saw it the first time I met her – rather obvious when the spark isn't there. She scolds him when he's wrong, praises him when he's right, gives him little kisses and goes on and on about what a great king he'll be. More like a mother than anything else, if you ask me, only Arthur doesn't seem to know the difference. Maybe she didn't either in the beginning, but there's no denying it now, is there?"

"I… I suppose not."

"So there's your problem. It isn't even about you. She's in that relationship under false pretenses – has been for a long time. Good she finally sees that, but she can't continue this leading him on while sneaking around behind his back business. Better to put an end to it before it gets any worse, you know?"

"Are you suggesting I leave?"

Gwaine stared at him in shock. "What? No! I'm saying she should be honest about her feelings, or lack thereof. Break it off with Arthur before he finds out what the two of you are doing and all hell breaks loose."

Lancelot frowned. "But she can't do that right now. I told you…"

"So it seems better to continue with the lying and sneaking around? Do that and this will blow up in everyone's faces by the end of it all, and you know why? Because no one is willing to treat Arthur like a grown man. He rules the most powerful kingdom in existence, and everyone coddles him like a feebleminded child."

"I don't think..."

You've got Merlin refusing to tell him the truth because he's convinced he'll be executed on the spot. There's the rest of the knights – Arthur could slaughter a litter of puppies and they'd be blathering on about his matchless bravery in taking down such an obvious threat to the kingdom. And then you've got Gwen… for all that she thinks he's going to be some great king, she obviously doesn't believe that's going to happen without her pulling the puppet strings."

"But Agravaine…"

Gwaine rolled his eyes. "What about him? Only difference between him and the others is that we don't agree with his point of view. But he's no more manipulative than the rest when it comes down to it. Can't you see that?"

"Gwen is just trying to do what she thinks is right," Lancelot said stiffly.

"That's exactly my point. _Everyone_ is trying to do what they think is best for Arthur. But not one person is allowing him to speak for himself. Sound familiar?"

"I... ah..."

"That's right. Quite a lot like what you did to Gwen all those years ago, eh? And what happened? She couldn't do what was best for anyone, least of all herself, because she didn't have the information she needed to help her make those decisions. What was that again?"

"The truth," Lancelot said quietly.

"Right. Do you know why I decided to come here and fight for Arthur?"

"Because you thought he was a worthy leader? Honorable, fair, just?"

Gwaine nodded, holding out his glass for a refill. "Yes, but it was more than that. It was watching him face his father, a man who'd been telling him what to do for his entire life, and defying him for my sake, someone he believed to be a commoner. _That_ was Arthur, who he really is, beneath the arrogance and the unreasonable expectations, the insecurities, all of it. Might be a pain in the ass sometimes, but when he's left to make his own decisions without someone prodding him in one direction or the other, he usually gets it right. Only problem is, everyone else is always telling him that up is down and left is right, and…"

"It's like when he stood up for me when Uther wanted to banish me from the kingdom. No one told him to do that. He just…"

"See what I mean? We can't expect him to be a great king, the kind we hope to follow, if we can't even let him take a piss without five different people telling him how to do it. At some point, we have to let him figure a few things out for himself. Hell, I expect he would've been more wary of Agravaine's machinations to begin with if that sort of thing wasn't already par for the course around here."

"You're right. Good lord…"

"Course I'm right. Let me ask you this: if Merlin went to Arthur tomorrow and told him about his magic, do you think he'd be executed? Do you honestly believe the man we know would stand by and watch as his closest friend was either beheaded or burned at the stake?"

"No."

Gwaine nodded, giving him a small smile. "There you go. We don't have to _teach_ Arthur to be a good man – he already _is_ one. We just have to let him be himself, and learn from his mistakes like everyone else."

"Yes," Lancelot said quietly.

"And with that, I best be going – told Percival I'd meet him at the tavern tonight, and I'm late as it is."

"You won't…?"

Gwaine chuckled as he rose to his feet. "Haven't you been listening to anything I've been saying? Sitting here going on and on about how bad it is to interfere, and you're _still_ worried I'm going to expose your secret? No, that's not my place. I'll be keeping my mouth shut… and hoping you'll both do the right thing."


	99. Treachery

#  **Chapter 99: Treachery**

* * *

Following that fateful night at the forge, days turned into weeks without any contact between Lancelot and Gwen, a maddening silence with no end in sight.

He needed to be alone with her, forever on the lookout for opportunities where the risk would be minimal. Mending work was always an option, of course, or he could even show up at her house claiming he needed new shirts made, or trousers, or… did it really matter? That would be a reasonable excuse to spend at least an hour with her, which would surely be enough time to find out where things stood between them.

But he couldn't bring himself to go through with it, not when his every action was being scrutinized.

Sometimes it was Elyan's malevolent glare boring holes into his back as he walked across the training grounds or sat down for the evening meal. And if it wasn't him, it was Merlin, who had an unsettling way of showing up wherever he happened to be, then exchanging the most casual of greetings all while staring at him with such disappointment in his eyes that Lancelot was forced to look away.

And yet neither of them could make him feel laid bare the way Gwaine managed to do. There was no judgment in that steady brown gaze, nothing that suggested Lancelot should do this thing or that or even that anything else should be said on the subject. Only a quiet sort of faith, an unshakable belief that in the end, he'd do what was best for everyone. How could he face that look when he had no idea what that was anymore, or if he'd even take the option if he figured it out?

Never had he felt so trapped, hopes and dreams, fears and expectations so hopelessly tangled that it was impossible to even begin to know how to proceed. And so he waited… the agonizing inertia of a man who was unable to say exactly what it was he was waiting for.

Nearly a month after the incident at the forge, something finally changed. How she managed it, he could not say, but he found the note in one of his boots of all places, a carefully folded bit of parchment that fell out onto the floor while he was getting dressed one morning.

_I'll find a way to sneak out on the night of the full moon. Can you meet me? I'll be waiting beside the fallen oak just to the south of the city, the one that was split by lightning last summer._

He frowned, reading it over for a second time and then a third before tossing it in the fire. While it was true that there were plenty of ways to slip away without detection for anyone who knew Camelot as well as they did, it certainly wouldn't be safe for her to be wandering around the Darkling Wood by herself in the middle of the night. Had it really come to this? Dealing with the risk that others would discover their secret was bad enough, but there was something intolerable about the idea of Gwen being forced to compromise her own safety just to see him.

Well, she wouldn't be alone. He could at least manage that.

Two nights later, he made his departure just after the evening meal, early enough to make sure he'd be there when she passed beyond the city's protective walls. He rode straight out of the gates without anyone giving him so much as a second glance, easily finding the location and then settling in to wait for her in the dim twilight. Hours passed and the night grew deeper; soon enough, the mild temperature left behind by the sunny afternoon was chased away by a brisk wind, carrying the first hints of autumn as it whistled through the trees.

It must've been close to midnight when he finally spotted her – hooded and cloaked, glancing around nervously as she emerged from the back entrance he'd expected her to use. And then suddenly, his stomach was tied in knots, pulse quickening as she drew closer. It had been too long since they'd talked, and so many things had happened, things that might have easily given her cause to sever what they had, to decide it wasn't worth the risk anymore. 

Lancelot didn't even know what had been said during her talk with Merlin. Had it worked, the other man's determination that she should give him up for Arthur's sake? Was that why she'd arranged this meeting?

But then she was in his arms, clinging to him like a lifeline as she turned her head to meet his kiss, and any further doubts were put to rest.

"We're too exposed here," he said quietly, taking her hand in his. "Come."

She hesitated, casting a dubious look at the shadowed forest, dark and menacing as it loomed before them.

"Don't worry. I will keep you safe."

There was only one place to take her, his favorite spot whenever he was able to slip out of the city for a solitary ride. It was a small clearing, carpeted by thick grass and tiny wildflowers that would soon fade away with the coming winter, an appropriate reflection of the existence they'd both been living for quite some time. The odds were stacked against them, promising these secret meetings could not last and that they'd be left with nothing if they did not proceed with caution. But still, there was the need to embrace the love that existed between them, the feeling of belonging no one else would ever understand.

Gwen spread her cloak on the ground and he sat behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder as she leaned back against his chest. Neither spoke at first, too lost in the illusion created by their closeness… warmth and safety and comfort that almost made them believe everything would be all right if they just kept holding onto one another.

Unfortunately, the time they had together was brief, and there were things that were far too important to push away in favor of quiet solace. And so they filled one another in on the conversations they'd had with Merlin, followed by Lancelot doing his best to explain Gwaine's point of view.

"He thinks Arthur is better off without my interference?" She looked confused, even a little hurt as she said it. "But…"

"Everyone knows how much good you've done where Arthur is concerned, that your advice has been invaluable over the years. It's just… well, Gwaine seems to think he's ready to stand on his own now. He believes that if we step aside and let him make decisions for himself, he'll do the right thing."

"But that's not always true. Gwaine means well, I know he does, but there's so much he doesn't know. So much he wasn't around to see. I'd never say Arthur isn't a good man, but you have to understand… the way he was raised, all of the wrong ideals that were forced on him… that doesn't just go away, Lancelot. Sometimes he still needs someone to show him there's another way. How can he figure out the best thing to do if he doesn't even know an alternative exists?"

"I understand how you feel, but…"

But Gwen wasn't listening. "Arthur isn't influenced by Agravaine to this extent because he's some brilliant manipulator; it's because he reminds him so much of his father. Firm. Unyielding. Even brutal at times. That is all Arthur knows how to trust, even if he might not be that way himself. He was always obsessed with the need to please Uther, and Agravaine is just a continuation of that. Someone has to be there, to show him that he's putting his faith in the wrong person. We can't expect him to see the truth on his own, when the relationship they have is one that seems so natural to him."

"Are you certain of that?" Lancelot asked her, his voice subdued. "I know you've often had to intervene in the past when Uther encouraged Arthur to do something dishonorable, but it's different now. He's older, certainly has to be wiser, and…"

"He's been king for less than a year and he's still grieving for his father. He's in a vulnerable position right now for many reasons, and Agravaine is trying to take advantage of him in every way he possibly can. We… I can't just turn my back on him, Lancelot. Not now. Not like this. Maybe that's selfish of me… it's not fair for me to ask you to continue with…"

He wiped a stray tear from her cheek. "Gwen, I'm here. I have no intention of giving you up, unless that is what you want. Is it?"

"No, of course not," she whispered. "But…"

"Then the rest doesn't matter. Whatever anyone else thinks, I would never ask you to go against your own conscience. If you feel Arthur still needs you, I will accept that."

"But we can hardly even see each other anymore. I just… I don't want to make you miserable."

Lancelot pulled her closer, nuzzling his face in her hair. "I'd only be miserable if I didn't have you at all. I will not lie and say it's going to be easy, but we'll…"

"Just make the best of it?"

He smiled, just before he kissed her. "Yes."

* * *

The man crouched behind a dense thicket at the edge of the clearing, looking on in fascination as the couple abandoned their conversation in favor of increasingly passionate kisses. That alone was satisfying enough, but then Lancelot's hands began to wander, touching her in places that promised there could only be one inevitable conclusion to the delicious scene that was unfolding before his eyes. Oh yes… this was too good.

But then Lancelot was helping her to her feet; were they leaving? 

No, he was easing her dress off her shoulders, pushing it down to reveal that she wasn't wearing anything underneath. Guinevere! Who would've thought she'd be so shameless… or that she'd been hiding such a magnificent pair of breasts beneath all that demure clothing she usually wore? Gently curving hips and shapely legs… there was only a moment to take it all in before Lancelot was kneeling at her feet, looking up at her with eyes full of adoration. He leaned forward to press his mouth to the shadowed place between her thighs, lingering there until her lusty cries gave way to a breathless little sigh of satisfaction.

Too good indeed; the man was hard as a rock, feverishly rubbing himself without even consciously realizing he was doing so as Guinevere gazed down at her lover with soft, hazy eyes. Oh yes, now that he saw her like this, body full and lush in the moonlight, it wasn't so difficult to understand why even a king would be willing to compromise his station to be with her. 

Little did Arthur know…

Lancelot rose to his feet and she was in his arms, kissing him fiercely as she pushed up his shirt and tugged insistently at the laces of his trousers. Oh, she was eager, far more demanding than he would've ever expected. Nice, very nice… though it was a wonder she didn't devour Arthur whole if she was capable of this much passion. Then again, this could easily be a side of her that he'd never even seen.

Somehow, that made it even better.

Before long, they were stretched out on the ground, Lancelot's mouth covering one breast and then the other as his hand dipped between her thighs, no doubt penetrating her with his fingers judging by the rhythmic flexing of his muscles. After a few minutes of that, she was tossing her head back and forth, gasping and moaning her encouragement, and then she was over the edge, one last, wild cry echoing through the clearing as her body went limp.

Twice now. Impressive. Very impressive.

Momentarily sated, she smiled up at Lancelot as he braced himself above her and reached for his cock, pushing his hips forward with a long, low groan that spoke volumes as to how pleasurable it must have felt to be inside her. He moved with a great deal of restraint for quite some time, slow and deep, gradually increasing the friction until his thrusts were coming fast and hard. Her legs were wrapped around his waist by then, fingernails digging into his shoulders, sounds of passion becoming louder and more urgent as…

Yanking his hand out of his trousers, the man forced himself to look away. 

It wasn't easy to stop; he hadn't been so maddeningly aroused since the last time _she_ had allowed him to lie with her, and that had been how many months ago? But he couldn't run the risk of upsetting his mistress, which would be inevitable if she thought that Gwen had inspired the release she'd undoubtedly know about... just as she somehow sensed everything else he said and did. It wouldn't matter that his stimulation had more to do with the powerful weapon he'd gained that night than anything else. She'd know, and then he'd pay the price for his moment of weakness.

And so he turned his feet in the other direction as their voices rang out behind him, Gwen's breathless cries reaching a crescendo and then fading into nothing just as a hoarse shout ricocheted off the trees. No, his own desire would have to wait, and indeed, was next to nothing compared with the satisfaction he'd be giving his mistress with the news of this forbidden liason. 

Smirking to himself, he reached his horse and climbed into the saddle, suddenly desperate to reach her side.

Behind him, Lancelot and Gwen were still wrapped in each other's arms, gazing lovingly into one another's eyes in the warm afterglow of their passion. They'd never know their hidden sanctuary had been violated, nor would they ever realize that what had just passed between them would prove to be the catalyst for the nightmare that was about to unfold.

* * *

"You know, Agravaine, these unexpected visits of yours are going to get you killed one of these days."

He flinched, trying to squirm away from the sharp prick of the dagger that was prodding him in the back. It took her a few minutes to lower the weapon, which wasn't a good sign. Either she was upset with him over something in particular or was just feeling even more testy than usual. Well, maybe he could do something to improve her mood this time around.

"My lady, I do apologize for the intrusion, but I think you'll understand when you hear what I have to say. I bring news of the most urgent kind… news that has the power to further your cause beyond imagining if we play our cards right."

"Oh?" she said caustically. "Forgive me if I'm not overcome with joy. You've been in Camelot for well over a year now, and how far has that gotten us? Truly, Agravaine, you're as incompetent as…"

"Lancelot and Guinevere are having a love affair."

He heard her suck in a sharp breath. "Do you have proof of this?"

"I saw it with my own eyes."

"What did you see? You might have been mistaken, and I don't want to risk…"

He turned to face her, his lips curling into a self-satisfied smirk. "Unless there's some legitimate excuse Arthur would accept for what I saw – Lancelot pounding away between his precious Guinevere's thighs while she writhed beneath him like some lusty tavern wench, I think I can safely say this stands as confirmation."

Her eyes widened. "How did you…?"

"I saw him riding out of the city earlier this evening. Alone. Considering our agreement that I should keep a close eye on him, I followed."

"And then…?"

"She showed up."

"Gwen."

"Yes."

"And then they were… intimate?"

Agravaine smirked as he remembered the scene. "Not at first. He took her deeper into the forest. They talked for a while – I couldn't get close enough to hear what was said without running the risk of alerting them to my presence."

"Go on."

"They became more amorous after a while. Clothing came off and soon enough, they were going at it right there on the ground. I saw everything."

"I'm surprised it didn't even occur to me until now," she said thoughtfully.

"What?"

"This attraction between Gwen and her loyal knight is nothing new. It started years ago, long before she ever betrayed me with Arthur. Funny... back then, there was nothing I wanted more than to see her married to Lancelot, realizing how happy she'd be with someone like him. Maybe that's why it seemed even more treacherous when I found out about her involvement with Arthur. I _knew_ her heart belonged to someone else, so what reason could she have for pursuing my brother? Power? Greed? She wanted the crown. _My_ crown. There's no other explanation."

"She has wronged you tremendously."

"Indeed she has. They all have. And they will pay the consequences for what they've done."

Agravaine watched her carefully. "What is your command, my lady?"

She gave him one of her rare smiles. "It seems simple enough to me. You'll keep a close eye on them both, figure out when they intend to meet again, then make sure Arthur catches them in the act… and that you receive the credit for exposing them, of course."

"I do not question your wisdom, but if I might suggest an alternative?"

"What is it?" she demanded, suddenly impatient. "I see no reason to make this any more complicated than it needs to be. Complex strategies have always failed us in the past."

"I know," he agreed, hoping he sounded sufficiently humble. Morgana had little tolerance for anyone's vanity other than her own. "I just think this knowledge would be best exploited when they're at their most vulnerable. Such is not the case right now."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Only a few people know about Arthur's relationship with Guinevere, nor have there been any commitments made between them. If we revealed the information we have under these circumstances, I'm afraid it would not have the impact we're looking for. You must know Arthur would never condemn her for treason when their own relationship that hasn't even been officially confirmed."

"I see what you mean," she said, finally looking up at him without a trace of animosity in her eyes. "What do you suggest instead?"

Suppressing a smile of triumph, he said, "I'll convince Arthur that this would be an ideal time to start looking toward the future, beginning with the selection of his queen. He already believes my opinion has changed in favor of a union with Guinevere, so he will not be suspicious when I offer my support in these matters. When he proposes and she accepts, I'll insist on throwing a grand engagement celebration. All of Camelot will be obligated to recognize her as their future queen. I imagine they'll take special pride in the knowledge that a commoner like themselves has risen so high."

"Undoubtedly."

"… and I don't think they'll take it too kindly when she's exposed as an unscrupulous harlot who has been betraying their king all along. Really, it's a bad reflection on all of them."

"So it is," she said softly. "Oh, to see Gwen publicly shamed… Arthur humiliated, with every last person in Camelot knowing exactly what happened between them. Agravaine, you have outdone yourself. I was starting to think you weren't cunning enough to come up with anything useful, but you've proven me wrong."

He bowed his head submissively. "My lady."

"You shall be rewarded tonight for your careful attention to detail… and much more besides when these events come to pass."

And reward him she did, granting him the pleasure of an hour or two between her lovely thighs. She gave nothing, of course – he'd known from the first time that it was his job to please her, not the other way around. He did so with hands, mouth, fingers and tongue, gratified when she finally gave him permission to bury himself inside her, placidly accepting his feverish need for release. He didn't mind… not even when she ordered him out of her bed before he'd so much as had a chance to catch his breath in the aftermath.

After all, he lived to serve.


	100. Tightening the Noose

#  **Chapter 100: Tightening the Noose**

* * *

Candles. They were everywhere, dozens and dozens of flickering flames that illuminated the interior of her house so brightly that Gwen was forced to squint as her eyes adjusted to the light. And then suddenly, it was pitch dark as a pair of large hands slid around to cover her face.

She wasn't afraid. The touch was immediately familiar, as was the subtle scent of clean male sweat mingled with the clove and evergreen fragrance of the expensive soap he always used. Arthur. But what…?

"You weren't supposed to see it before I got here," he whispered in her ear. "But there's still another surprise… one I hope you'll like even better than this. Keep your eyes closed."

Taking her hand, he led her across the room; knowing her surroundings as well as she did, it was obvious that he was headed directly for the bed. The bed?! Oh no… had he come here to seduce her? Was that what the candles were all about?

"Be seated, Guinevere. Please."

Not knowing what else to do, she sat.

Arthur was kneeling, that much she could tell by the rasp of his breathing in front of her, quick and just a little unsteady, as if he were nervous… or excited. Maybe both. He didn't release her hand; instead, something cold touched the tip of her finger, sliding down over her knuckle, proving to be a perfect fit just as she gasped aloud upon realizing what it was.

"Open your eyes," he commanded gently.

She saw the ring first, staring in disbelief at the silver band for a long moment before raising her eyes to meet Arthur's eager, impatient gaze.

"Guinevere…"

_Oh no, not now. No…_

"Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

All she could do was stare at him, her emotions in turmoil as she tried to figure out the best way to handle the situation. Oddly enough, a single thought separated from the rest, the completely irrelevant observation that Merlin had no doubt been responsible for the perfectly arranged candles that surrounded them both. Did he have any idea how much of a mess the wax was going to make? Well, he would as soon as she informed him that he'd be the one who'd be cleaning it up.

Unable to help herself, she smiled.

"Is that a yes?"

_Oh no…_

"Arthur, I… I'm not sure I'm ready for this."

He looked unperturbed, at least for the moment. "I know this was unexpected, Guinevere. It's a big change, only natural that it would be frightening at first. But I love you, and I know you feel the same way about me. We'll deal with the rest as it comes."

"But…" she desperately searched her mind for some plausible excuse to give him. "Agravaine."

Chuckling, he took both her hands in his own. "Is that what you're worried about? Lay your fears to rest then, because he's completely in favor of our marriage... as is everyone else whose opinion holds any weight in this kingdom."

 _Except me,_ she thought silently.

She swallowed hard. "Arthur, perhaps it would be best to wait just a little longer. You've only been king for a short time, and…"

"We've waited for years already. What need is there to delay any longer?"

"I… it just doesn't feel like the right time."

And then finally, she seemed to have gotten through to him. His demeanor changed, becoming wary, almost frightened as he said, "Do you not _want_ to marry me, Guinevere? Have you stopped loving me? Is that it? Because I don't see any other reason…"

"I'm not saying that," she said, withdrawing her hands from his in favor of twisting them in her lap. "It's just that I… I don't know, Arthur. I feel very confused right now. If you can just give me a little time to think about this…"

 _"You love me!"_ he exploded, rising to his feet and staring down at her with an expression of bewilderment. "I thought this was what we both wanted, what we've been hoping for all along, why we've been willing to face so many obstacles along the way. What was that for, if not so we could finally get married without anyone telling us we couldn't?"

"I'm sorry, Arthur. I'm just…"

"You're still in shock. That's what it is. After so many years of thinking this could never happen, maybe it's still difficult for you to see that it can. I… I guess that's understandable. You just need a little time to adjust, that's all."

At a loss for anything else to say, she nodded mutely. Taking that as confirmation, Arthur softened, bending down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Come to me when you're ready, and keep the ring in the meantime. It was always meant to be yours."

And then he was gone.

Gwen slid the silver band off her finger and laid it on the bedside table, then curled up in a ball and cried herself to sleep.

* * *

The door burst open; Gwen gave a start, whirling around to meet her brother's furious eyes as the bowl she was holding slipped from her hands and hit the floor with a crash.

"Elyan! What…?!"

"You… you…" he stalked across the room to where she stood, his heavy boots squelching through the spilled stew and creating an even bigger mess out of her wasted supper. Not that he cared, of course; there could only be one reason for this intrusion, and she knew enough by now to understand that it had little to do with her own comfort or well-being. 

Had he always been so selfish? She didn't want to think so, but all she had to do was remember her father's death, her solitary grief and all the pleading letters that had gone unanswered, to know the truth. Elyan had always looked out for himself, first and foremost, and that was why he was here.

"You know about the proposal," she said flatly. It wasn't a question.

"Merlin told me. Now perhaps you can explain why there's no ring on your finger… why the king has been sitting around looking miserable all day, snapping at everyone instead of enjoying what should be the happiest moment of his life."

"You don't understand, Elyan. I'm…"

"Stupid? Selfish? Too busy whoring yourself out to Lancelot to give a single thought to…"

She cut him off, glaring daggers at him as she moved the mop back and forth across the floor, jerky, erratic swipes that only succeeded in creating a bigger smear than had been there before. "If you intend on speaking to me that way, you can just leave right now. I will not tolerate…"

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere," he snarled, reinforcing the point by dropping heavily into one of the kitchen chairs. "I intend on staying here until you agree…"

But then he stopped, anger fading away to be replaced by an expression of bewilderment as the tension abruptly drained from his body. As she watched in confusion, then in growing horror, he slumped forward, his head hitting the table with a painful sounding thud.

"Elyan? Elyan!" she rushed over to him, gasping frantically as she fumbled for his pulse. His eyes were open, staring blankly… oh no… no… "Elyan, please!"

But he wasn't dead. She could hear the steady sound of his breathing, feel the strong, rhythmic beat beneath her fingertips as she pressed them into his wrist. She shook him gently at first, then almost violently to no avail. He might have been deeply asleep, except for those eyes gazing back at her, empty and sightless as she knelt beside him with tears streaming down her face.

"I… Elyan, I'm going to go find Gaius. I'll return as quickly as I can!"

* * *

The physician's chamber was empty; her frantic calls for help received no response. Panting from her exertions, she paused for a moment to catch her breath as she tried to decide where to search next. But when she spun around to face the door again, a looming shadow was standing there.

"My lady Guinevere," he said, bowing so low that all she could see was a head full of greasy black hair. "I was hoping I might run into you here. Might I request a moment of your time?"

"I –ah… please, just call me Gwen. I can't right now, I'm actually trying to find…"

He shook his head, giving her his best ingratiating smile. "With all due respect, my lady, I'm afraid I can't do that anymore. You are to be my queen, and I merely your humble servant. I'd be terribly remiss if I failed to address you properly."

"I assure you that's not necessary," she told him, feeling more uncomfortable by the second. "I have not accepted Arthur's proposal, as I'm sure you know, and I'm not… please, I need to…"

The man was either oblivious to her distress or just didn't care. "My lady, I understand your hesitance, but I think it would be wise to reconsider the king's offer. He does you a great honor, and you must consider how much your own circumstances will be improved by this alliance. Surely you don't want to remain a peasant for the rest of your life."

She stared back at him, her eyes full of suspicion. "I thought you were opposed to my relationship with Arthur. Aren't you the one who pushed him into severing all ties with me less than a year ago?"

"My lady Guinevere, you must forgive me for that. I was… misguided. Ill-informed, and admittedly much too attached to the traditions of the past. Arthur has since come to show me that I was wrong… that sometimes there are other factors that must be considered in these situations."

"I… very well, I accept your apology, but that doesn't change… anyway, I _really_ must find Gaius."

"The Court Physician is down in the servants' quarters seeing to a severe toothache. But no matter – surely your need of him cannot be so urgent that it can't wait until morning. You look... healthy enough to me."

His eyes drifted down her body then, lingering on her breasts, smirking to himself as if he knew exactly what she looked like without her clothes. Fighting the urge to cross her arms over her chest, she made another attempt to move past him. "Please, I really _must_ …"

But instead of allowing her to leave, he shut the door with a resounding thud. "I mean you no harm, my lady," he said hastily, obviously anticipating the panicked scream that was rising in her throat. "I will tell you here and now how to save your brother, if you'll only…"

She stared at him, aghast. "H… how did you know about that? I never said it was…"

"Nor did you need to. There's not much that goes on within these city walls that I don't know about."

"You… _you_ must have had something to do with it! There's no other way you could have known. Elyan and I were alone when it happened, and…"

He smiled, completely unruffled by the accusation. "As your future advisor, allow me to give you a bit of advice. It's never wise to level a charge at a potential enemy without proof… especially when you're not in a position to know just how powerful that enemy might be."

"I'll tell…"

"Arthur? I wouldn't have to lift a finger to convince him you're mistaken. Gaius? A withered old fool who doesn't even have the balls to come to blows with his own shadow, let alone anyone else. The knights? Brute strength doesn't hold a candle to what I can do, my lady."

"You can't…"

"Oh, yes I can. Imagine Sir Gwaine, passing out after one of his numerous evenings at the tavern, only to never wake up again. Sir Percival, that strong young body wasting away before our eyes as that feebleminded old physician tries to figure out how to break a curse he's never even seen before. Think of Sir Lancelot, taking a sip of his wine at the evening meal and then clutching his throat, fighting for breath while those around him look on in horror, powerless to stop the poison as it spreads through his veins. A life snuffed out in a matter of minutes, though I've no doubt it seems like forever to those suffering through the agony…"

"What do you want?" she whispered, her voice small and broken. "Why are you being so cruel?"

In a flash, the menacing visage was wiped away, replaced by one of Agravaine's placating smiles. "I have no desire to resort to such extreme methods of persuasion, my lady. Just grant me one simple request and there will be no need to speak of such unpleasant matters again."

"Say it."

"Submit to the king's proposal. Marry him, make him happy, and I give you my solemn word that everyone you care for will be safe from any retribution at my hands. It's a small thing to ask, is it not? A man who loves you… a chance to be queen…?"

The chains drew tight around her as she stared up into his cold black eyes. Part of her wanted to ask why this was so important to him, what her role was to be in the underhanded scheme that no doubt was the reason behind his sudden change of heart. But what would be the point? He'd never tell her, and even if he did, she no longer had the ability to refuse. No, not with so many innocent lives on the line.

"Very well."

"Wonderful!" he clapped his hands together in satisfaction. "Somehow I knew we'd see eye to eye. And as a gesture of good faith, I swear to you that your brother will be fully restored by the time you get home. I expect you'll want to stop by and have a word with Arthur first, however."

"Yes," she said quietly. "Of course."

* * *

An hour later, she was officially betrothed, lips swollen from her future husband's unusually amorous kisses as she walked through the streets of Camelot with tears pouring down her face. No one stopped her at first – only a handful of guards were out at this late hour, all of which had a habit of conducting themselves with the utmost discretion. It wasn't until she was nearly home that she saw him just ahead, dark and handsome, red cloak billowing in the midnight breeze as he walked toward her, his gentle smile soon wiped away by an expression of deep concern.

"Gwen? What is it? What's happened?"

She didn't have it in her to soften the blow; in the end, it wouldn't be doing him any favors anyway. "I'm marrying Arthur," she announced stiffly. "The official announcement will go out in the morning."

"I… how… I don't understand…"

Lancelot was unable to put his thoughts into words, while she couldn't bring herself to look at his face. She tried to swallow past the pain but it was too big, seeming to consume her whole as she forced herself to turn away.

"Gwen, wait! If this isn't what you want…"

"It is. It took me a long time to figure out what was best for myself, but now I know. I'm sorry."

"But you're crying, you're obviously distressed, I…"

She forced herself to be cold and emotionless when she responded, for all that it nearly killed her to speak to him so harshly. "My tears, or the reasons behind them, are none of your concern. Not anymore. Now please, just let me go."

"But…"

"Goodbye, Lancelot."


	101. Cause and Effect

#  **Chapter 101: Cause and Effect**

* * *

To say Gwen's life had changed overnight would be a massive understatement. 

She never went anywhere without an escort; even at night, Sir Elyan and Sir Leon were stationed just outside her door. They were at her side when she arrived home in the evening and were still there the following morning, staring at her through bleary eyes as they escorted her back to the palace. She couldn't even go to the privy anymore without someone waiting for her to finish, ready to whisk her off to her next destination.

Her seamstress work was a thing of the past, days filled with wedding planning, learning all the protocol a queen was expected to know, and entertaining the visitors who were arriving each day in anticipation of the celebrations to come. Everywhere she went, people bowed or curtsied, addressing her by titles that seemed uncomfortable and strange as they paid her endless compliments or begged for favors she didn't have the power to bestow upon them yet.

Arthur was ecstatic, his happiness only eclipsed by Merlin's, who seemed to light up from the inside whenever he saw her. She hadn't had a chance to talk to him, but the message in his eyes was abundantly clear… she'd done the right thing and he was _thrilled_. 

Everyone seemed overjoyed, in fact, except for Gwaine. He never said a word, but there was no mistaking the skepticism in his eyes whenever he glanced her way.

She didn't see Lancelot at all, though that was soon explained by a conversation she overheard between Arthur and Agravaine, alluding to the fact that Lancelot had specifically requested to be in charge of as many of the outer patrols as possible in the weeks leading up to the wedding. That was hard to swallow, for although Arthur was convinced that Lancelot was simply being vigilant with so many visitors pouring into the kingdom, she knew the real reason he must not want to be inside the city walls. 

Truth be told, she felt the same way.

* * *

Lancelot rode wearily through the crowded streets, doing his best to ignore the heady sense of anticipation that hung in the air. He wanted to pretend this was a day just like any other, to convince himself that he'd only returned for an ordinary feast, not an engagement banquet. But that was impossible, so he forced himself to stay numb once he'd reached his quarters, bathing thoroughly, shaving off the scraggly beard that had grown during his absence, then dressing in his finest clean uniform. 

Despite his efforts, however, one glance in the mirror told another story – nothing would disguise his dull, lifeless eyes or the dark circles beneath them, nor could he hide the loss of weight that was the result of not having had a decent appetite in weeks. All he really wanted to do was crawl beneath the blankets and stay there until this nightmare was over, a desire that was plain enough to see in his reflection.

But there was no avoiding a direct request from the king, so he gathered his courage and made his way to the feasting hall where he seated himself with the other knights. Somehow, he made a passable attempt at ordinary conversation as he picked at his food, already counting the hours until he could hope to leave without causing offense. 

"You all right there?" Gwaine muttered under his breath, but Lancelot never had the chance to answer as the royal couple chose that moment to make their grand entrance. 

Gwen was smiling, so beautiful she took his breath away in her red velvet gown, her dark curls cascading over her bare shoulders and interwoven with tiny jewels that sparkled in the candlelight. He tried to force himself to look away, but he couldn't… not even when Arthur moved closer, one hand resting possessively on the small of her back as he guided her to her chair.

The next few hours were agony, a punch in the gut every time he saw the soon to be wedded couple exchanging a kiss, a quiet laugh, fingers entwined on top of the table as Arthur whispered in her ear. 

Whatever she might've said in the past, it soon became clear that at least where Arthur was concerned, passion was definitely part of their relationship. He couldn't take his eyes off her throughout the night, and the hunger in that soft blue gaze was impossible to interpret for anything other than what it was. A couple times, Lancelot even caught him staring at her breasts as if mesmerized, like it was all he could do not to lean over and press his lips to the gentle swells that were displayed to perfection in her exquisitely fitted dress.

She glanced over in Lancelot's direction a few times, always turning away so quickly that he never managed to catch her eye. And so he drank, steadily at first, and then with a great deal of desperation as the night wore on and the couple became increasingly amorous. 

He was well and truly drunk by the time they rose from their seats, Arthur's arm wrapping around Gwen's slender waist and pulling her flush against his body as one hand slid down to grope her backside. No one seemed to mind, laughing and calling out bawdy suggestions, then cheering wildly as the pair headed toward the staircase that led up to Arthur's chamber.

Lancelot stumbled outside to empty the contents of his stomach, falling to his knees and retching painfully in the dirt until he had nothing left to give. He might've passed out right there, neither knowing or caring what might've happened to him, were it not for a warm hand on his back, followed by a familiar, comforting voice that murmured, "Come on, friend, let's get you to bed."

* * *

"Best wine I've ever had!" Arthur proclaimed, waving around the empty bottle until it slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor. "Whoops! Merlin's not going to enjoy cleaning that up later. Oh well… didn't hire him to sit around on his ass."

Gwen giggled, sinking down onto the floor to pull off her shoes and stockings."Is there any more?"

"No, Agravaine said this was the last bottle when he gave it to me. Special wine, you know."

"It makes me feel…"

"What?" Arthur said curiously.

She frowned in deep concentration for a moment. "Hot."

"Me too! Where's Merlin?"

"What do you need him for?"

"To help me out of my clothes. Obviously."

Gwen burst out laughing. "Come on, Arthur. Surely you can undress yourself! I can, and what I'm wearing is _much_ more complicated, I assure you. Here, look…"

It was somewhat awkward, but soon enough, she was standing in front of him wearing nothing but her lacy underclothes. 

"Wow," he said, his eyes fixed on the dusky circles that were easy enough to see through the thin white fabric.

"You can look at them if you want," she said carelessly, whipping her chemise over her head.

"I…uh…" Arthur stammered and blushed for a few seconds, then stepped closer. "Can I touch them?"

"I… if you want."

But just then, the door opened. "Arthur, I forgot to… Gwen! I'm sorry, I didn't realize… didn't mean to interrupt."

"You're not interrupting," Arthur bellowed, treating Merlin to a huge grin. "Just in time to help me undress."

"Uh, okay. Sure."

Suddenly too tired to stay on her feet any longer, Gwen clambered onto the bed, slipping between the soft as silk sheets with a sigh of contentment. So warm… so comfortable… she should really go home, but she was too heavy, too sleepy…

She faded in and out of consciousness as Arthur settled himself beside her, only vaguely aware of the hardness resting against her thigh as he slid his hand over her stomach and started squeezing her breasts. It felt nice… everything felt nicer tonight for some reason, but she was just so tired…

"Gwen?"

"Hmmm…"

"Do… do you want to?"

"What?"

"You know…"

"Make love?" she said drowsily.

"I… right. Yes. I mean, if you want."

Everything felt so good right now, and yet something about the idea of doing _that_ filled her with a strange sort of discomfort. Why? It was a far too complicated question to deal with in her intoxicated state… maybe she'd figure it out later.

"Not now, Arthur. Too sleepy."

"Okay." He didn't sound particularly upset, just went back to kneading her breasts, giving one nipple or the other the occasional clumsy pinch. Before long, his hand had grown still and he was snoring loudly in her ear.

* * *

"Here, thought you might be wanting some of this."

Lancelot was sitting on the side of the bed with his head in his hands, groaning softly at the sharp pain radiating through his skull. Gwaine… the man was truly a saint; he accepted the tiny vial of Gaius's hangover remedy, downing it in a single swallow.

"Better?"

He managed a small smile. "Getting there. Thank you."

Gwaine sat down beside him. "Forgive me for saying so, but you're not looking too good."

"I had a little too much to drink, that's all."

"No, it's more than that. Looks like you haven't slept in weeks, and you hardly ate anything at all last night. Imagine that's why you got so sick. Well, that and other things."

Lancelot sighed. "Forgive me for saying so, especially after everything you've done for me, but I'd rather not talk about it."

"Can't say as I blame you for that. But if you don't, I'm just going to walk around all day worried about you. Is that what you want?"

"No, but…"

"Well, let me just say this. I don't think any less of you. I never did, even after everything that's happened. Might not agree with the way you've handled it all, but I know you to be a good man with good intentions. Also know that you keep too many things to yourself, and that you'll let them destroy you from the inside rather than asking for help."

"You can't fix this," Lancelot said in a dull voice.

"Never intended to try. I'm just saying it might not be a bad thing to get it off your chest."

"What is there to say? I was wrong about everything," he muttered, and although he'd had every intention of leaving it at that, something compelled him to go on. "I thought that what I did all those years ago didn't matter. That she still loved me, perhaps better than she ever loved Arthur or anyone else. How could I _not_ believe when I heard it from her own lips?"

"You think she lied to you?"

"No," he said, shaking his head emphatically. "No, of course not. Certainly not on purpose."

"What changed your mind? Because we both know how she is with Arthur. She feels a strong sense of duty, not to mention the need to play caretaker, and can lose her head over that sometimes. I expect this marriage has something to do with that. But that doesn't mean you were wrong in thinking she loves you in a different way. Hell, that would make me wrong, too, and I don't especially like the thought of that."

"Gwaine, you must have seen the way they were with each other last night."

"Yes. But as I happen to be exceptionally observant, I also noticed the bottle Agravaine was holding when he served their wine… the only person who did so throughout the night, I might mention, even though the servants were taking care of the rest of us."

Lancelot frowned. "What does that matter?"

"It matters because the bottle was small and blue, with a funny shape to it."

"And?"

"Only had that type of wine once, my friend, and I spent the next two days in bed with the closest woman I could find. Didn't even like her, but ask me if I gave a damn."

Lancelot's eyes widened. "So you're saying it was a…?"

Gwaine nodded. "An aphrodisiac, yes. Next best thing to a love potion."

"But why would Agravaine…? I thought he'd be against all of this."

"Ah, now there's our real question. Why the sudden change? You haven't been around to see what I have these past few weeks. I have no idea what all this is about, but Gwen sure as hell isn't marrying Arthur because she's madly in love with him, I can guarantee you that. I'd stake my life on it."

"What have you seen?"

"She's being guarded around the clock. Agravaine has Arthur convinced it's for her own safety, but meanwhile, she's been wandering around looking like a ghost. Probably doesn't realize it, smiling and laughing at all the proper times like she's supposed to do. But something about her eyes… I've seen that look on a man walking to the gallows. Frightened, yet sort of resigned. And there are times when you can tell she's been crying, for all that it's obvious she's going to great lengths to hide it."

Lancelot just stared at him, at a loss for words.

"Look like you could use a drink, my friend."

"Yes, please."

Gwaine withdrew a flask from his pocket. "As much as I enjoy your wine, I think something a little stronger is needed at the moment. Here."

Lancelot drank deeply; feeling a bit more settled after a moment, he found his voice. "She was weeping the night she agreed to marry Arthur. I ran into her on the street and that's when she told me. It was clear she was distraught, but she refused to tell me anything else. Only that this was what she wanted, and it was none of my concern."

"Well, if she was forced into it, it would've required the kind of leverage that would keep her terrified. She's not a woman to be easily intimidated – you know that as well as I do. I think that if she was trying that hard to push you away, there must be a reason for it."

"But who would have done that to her? And why?"

Gwaine gave him a humorless smile. "That brings us back to the problem at hand. Neither of us are likely to get the chance to speak to her privately, and it seems unlikely she'd tell us the truth even if we did. We have no choice but to try and figure it out for ourselves based on the little information we have."

"I still think Agravaine must have something to do with it," Lancelot said quietly.

"Unless it's someone who knows about the two of you. Hmm, can't be Elyan – might be an ambitious little shit, but she's not the least bit afraid of him. Wouldn't be Merlin either. For all that he's obsessed with the idea of them being some starry-eyed couple plucked from a fairytale, he'd never go so far as to coerce her into marrying Arthur. He's stubborn, not cruel."

"I agree. I would never suspect Merlin."

Gwaine took a long drink from his flask, then wiped his mouth. "Is there any way Agravaine could know about you and Gwen?"

Lancelot shook his head. "No. I've only been alone with her once since that night at the forge, and we were... let's just say it was an extremely private location. Not somewhere he could've just stumbled across us."

"Right. So we're back at square one: if it is Agravaine, what does he have against her, and why the hell is he using it to begin with? Why would he want Gwen to be queen so badly? There's no advantage in it for him from what I can see."

"Yes, it doesn't make any sense. I... I have no idea what I should do."

Gwaine smiled. "What _we_ should do."

"I thought you didn't agree with…"

"The two of you sneaking around behind Arthur's back? I don't. But I sure as hell never thought anyone should put their own feelings aside to coddle him either. At best, that's what's happening here. At worst, a friend is being forced to do something she doesn't want to do. Hard to turn a blind eye to that, at least where I'm coming from."

Lancelot looked at him thoughtfully. "What about Merlin?"

"What about him?"

"Do you think he might help us? Surely he'd be able to find a way to talk to Gwen, and with his powers…"

"I don't know if that's very likely; he'd be working against everything he believes is supposed to be happening here. He always tries to do the right thing, no doubt about that… problem is he's so convinced that the two of them getting married _is_ the right thing that I don't know if he'll be able to see it from our perspective."

"We could still try. It won't hurt to ask, will it?"

Gwaine frowned, then took one last drink before tucking the flask back in his trousers. "No, suppose it won't. Let's go find him."


	102. Harsh Light of Morning

#  **Chapter 102: Harsh Light of Morning**

* * *

"Mmmm…" Gwen hummed drowsily, snuggling closer to the warm, solid body that was curled up behind her. She arched her back, seeking out the doubly pleasant sensation of a firmer touch from the hand covering her breast along with more intimate contact with the morning erection pressed against her backside. 

Oh yes... that was nice.

Somewhere between awake and dreaming, her mind offered up arousing images from the last time they'd made love in their current position. Moving her hips just a little, she created subtle friction between their bodies, letting out a soft moan that told him exactly what she wanted. That was always enough to rouse him from his slumber; soon enough, he'd be moving sensuously against her as he murmured in sleepy contentment, his hand closing around her breast, caressing gently…

What…? No, he wasn't supposed to _squeeze_ her there, not so hard that it was uncomfortable. There were times when their passion made them almost savage with one another, but Lancelot was _never_ like that in the mornings. He was slow and tender, and he always… wait, why was he snoring like that?

"Merlin," Arthur mumbled sleepily. "Where's my breakfast?"

As she lay there frozen in shock, he thrusted hard against her backside. Once, twice, and then she was out of bed, shaken and bewildered as she crossed her arms over her bare breasts and shivered in the chilly morning air. Meanwhile, Arthur slept on, oblivious to her inner turmoil as she tried to figure out exactly what had happened.

Had they…?

No, she was still wearing her underclothes, ribbons tied in a perfect little bow at her waist. More than that, she would've felt it… there was always a subtle, pleasant tenderness between her legs whenever Lancelot had been inside her. No, she didn't feel… she felt…

A little sick, truth be told.

That was when she remembered the wine, catching a whiff of cloying sweetness as she leaned over to grab her clothes and saw the broken bottle on the floor. The smell made her stomach churn with nausea; she swallowed hard in an effort not to retch. Her head was pounding, the sunlight streaming in from a gap in the curtains far too bright, painful… she needed to go home. Yes. Go home, and then straight back to bed.

"Good morning!"

She winced, then scowled at Merlin's beaming face as he closed the door behind him.

"Not so loud, please."

"Oh," he said, barely lowering his voice. "I forgot. Here, I brought you some of this."

 _Bless Gaius,_ she thought to herself as she downed the tonic. "Thank you, Merlin."

"No problem! I should probably go ahead and wake Arthur. Agravaine's been after me all morning wanting a word with him."

She frowned. "What time is it anyway?"

"Right around noon."

"Noon?! Oh, I should really get home." She looked down at herself, disconcerted by the realization that she was still standing there in her underwear. "Um, if you don't mind…"

"Oh yeah, of course," he said, presenting her with his back as she hurried into her dress. "I don't see why you have to rush off though. Might be nice to be here when he wakes up, especially after…"

"After what?"

She could hear him fidgeting behind her. "You know…"

"Not that it's any of your concern, Merlin, but nothing happened."

"What? Why not?"

But just then, Arthur stirred, stretching out on his back and letting out a huge yawn. "Merlin? That you?"

Gwen took advantage of the momentary distraction to make a hasty exit.

* * *

Gwaine tried to look inconspicuous as Arthur and Agravaine sat together in the Council Chamber, engaged in intense discussion. He had every reason to be there, having been assigned to stand guard along with Percival and a pair of newer knights whose names he couldn't remember. But still, it wouldn't be good to appear like he was _too_ interested in what was being said.

"No, of course not, Arthur. She's your betrothed – there's no shame in it. My only point is that in light of your... liason, it might be wise to move up the date of the wedding."

Arthur frowned. "But it's only a month away. I really don't see the difference. And anyway, I'm not sure we even…"

"Doesn't matter," Agravaine cut in, wearing that self-satisfied smirk that made Gwaine want to punch him in the face. "Everyone _thinks_ you did, so the sooner you make it official, the better it is for her reputation as a chaste woman... and yours as an honorable man."

Gwaine snorted, immediately disguising it as a cough when Arthur glanced up at him. "Sorry."

"I see your point, Uncle, but all the plans we've made… the guests that will be coming…"

"Most of the guests have already arrived. And… well, I know this is a delicate matter, but can you be _sure_ you didn't consummate your relationship last night? You told me yourself that you can't remember everything that happened. What if you did, and Guinevere is already with child? If you wait a month, it'll be obvious the conception occurred before your wedding. He… or she... would be labeled as a bastard, royal or not, and there are some who'd look down on him for that reason. Surely you don't want…?"

Arthur sighed heavily. "You're right, as usual. When were you thinking?"

Smugness practically radiated off of Agravaine as he said, "The day after tomorrow."

"What?! But how can we make arrangements in such a short time?"

"Do you trust me, Arthur?"

"Of course I do. You know I do."

"Well then, just leave it to me. I can promise you a wedding the kingdom will never forget."

* * *

"Did you ever find him?" Gwaine asked Lancelot a couple hours later, joining him on the training grounds for a little light sparring.

"I found him," Lancelot responded, easily blocking a rather halfhearted downward thrust. "No luck though. I only came across him once when he wasn't at Arthur's side, and he was going on and on about a change of plans and there being so much left to do. He went racing off in the other direction before I could get a word out."

"Change of plans. That's our problem... we're running out of time."

"What do you mean?" Lancelot said a little breathlessly, metal clashing against metal as he countered the next attack. "The wedding isn't supposed to take place for another month."

Gwaine shook his head, taking the offensive again. "Afraid not, my friend. It's been moved up to the day after tomorrow."

"What?! _Oof!_ " He'd managed to avoid the blow itself, but Gwaine's elbow had caught him in the chest, causing him to stagger for a moment before regaining his balance.

"Sorry about that. You all right?"

"Yes, I… what do you mean it's been moved up? How? Why?"

Gwaine gave him a humorless smile. "Probably best we put the weapons away before I tell you the rest."

* * *

Dressed in blue satin and a tasteful array of sapphires, Gwen sat at Arthur's side, the perfect picture of a dutiful consort. Inside, however, she was screaming. Tomorrow?! Even a month had seemed too soon, but _this_ …

"It's called a sunrise wedding," Agravaine said, pacing before the small crowd that was gathered to listen. "Very fashionable these days, from what I understand. The groom arrives at his bride's doorstep at the break of dawn and escorts her in a grand procession to the location where the wedding will take place. The symbolism is twofold – an eager suitor, too much in love with his future wife to wait for a respectable hour, and then of course, the entire day stretching out before them, representing the new life they'll share together."

"That sounds wonderful, Uncle." Arthur rose to his feet and placed an affectionate hand on Agravaine's shoulder. "I actually like it better than the traditional handfasting we'd previously planned. You're to be commended – once again, you've outdone yourself."

"Yes, Agravaine," Gwen echoed, wondering if her voice sounded as hollow to everyone else as it did to her. "Thank you."

The others took that as a cue to murmur their approval… everyone except Lancelot. He stood in the back of the room, half hidden behind Gwaine, his stoic expression so unchanging that he might as well have been carved from stone. Gwen had only seen him react to anything once, and that had been to reach out and grab Merlin's sleeve as he'd passed. He'd appeared to have been saying something urgent, but Merlin had just shaken his head, hurrying to take position behind Arthur's chair.

"My lady, I'm assuming your gown is ready?"

"Yes."

"And will you be requiring anything else to assist you in your preparations?"

"No," she said quietly. "Thank you."

"Very well then!" Agravaine exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "It seems everything is in order; soon, the king and future queen will retire for a good night's sleep, and in the morning…"

In the morning, life as she knew it would end.

"Who's on duty tonight?" Arthur suddenly asked. "Guinevere will need someone to escort her home… and to stand guard, of course. Where are Sir Leon and Sir Elyan?"

"Oh," Agravaine said, looking slightly embarrassed. "I assigned them to look after Lady Kathleen and her daughters. Bit of a nervous hen, that one; I don't think she travels from home very often. She said she couldn't possibly sleep without the best knights we have to offer stationed outside her door at all times. I'm sorry, sire… terrible oversight on my part."

"No, you did the right thing," Arthur said, giving him a comforting smile. "It's important for our guests to feel secure here in Camelot. What about Percival?"

"I… ah, I sent him down to the tavern to keep the peace. Celebrations were getting a bit rowdy. I expect that to continue into the late hours, which was why I was planning on sending Sir Gwaine down to lend him a hand, but…"

"No, that's a good idea. Guinevere should be given the strongest protection we have to offer, but there's still Sir Lancelot. Does he have any other duties tonight?"

Agravaine's expression shifted, becoming unreadable. "No, sire, but I'm not sure..."

"Excellent!" Arthur said with a grin. "I can't think of anyone I'd trust more with this assignment. How about it, Lancelot? Can you look after my bride to be? Keep her safe until morning?"

Lancelot approached the king, wearing the same stoic expression he'd displayed throughout the evening as he lowered his head in a respectful bow. "Of course, sire. I'd be honored."

* * *

Though he remained close at her side, Lancelot said nothing as they made their way down the palace steps and into the courtyard. He didn't even look at her, which hurt immensely, for all that she had no right to feel like the injured party in this situation. She wanted to say something, to ease the silent tension between them, perhaps even bring a spark of light back into those dull, emotionless eyes. But what?

"I'm sorry," she finally murmured in a subdued voice. "You shouldn't be under obligation to do this. I would've requested someone else if Arthur had given me the chance."

"The choices you've made do not change the fact that your safety is of utmost importance to me," he replied almost stiffly, keeping his eyes straight ahead. "Do not waste time feeling guilty for my sake; I'm sure you have a lot of other things on your mind tonight."

"Lancelot…"

His composure slipped just a little; he swallowed hard, then let out a heavy sigh.

"I never meant to hurt you."

"I know. It's… it's all right."

She hesitated. How to ease his pain, even just a little, without telling him more than was safe for him to know? "This is what I must do now. I wish there was a way to make you understand, but…"

"All you've ever had to do was tell me the truth," he said quietly, his voice laced with pain. "I would never blame you, or use it against you in any way. You must know that."

"That's not what I'm afraid of."

He stopped in his tracks, turning to search her face with anxious eyes. Yes, there was a spark... just not the one she'd wanted.

"Then what _are_ you afraid of, Gwen? Talk to me, please. Tell me, and whatever it is, I'll help you. I swear I will, if you'll just…"

She took a step backward, mindful of any curious observers. "I can't, Lancelot. I'm sorry."

"You _can!_ " he insisted. "Who is there to stop you? You don't have to go through with this if…"

Sucking in a deep breath, she looked away. "Nobody is forcing me to marry Arthur. This is what I want."

"If I truly believed that, I would never interfere. But I don't, Gwen. I think…"

"Whatever you think, you're wrong," she said firmly, hurrying away from him as they reached her house. "Good night, Lancelot."

* * *

She could feel him just on the other side of the door, heard a soft thud and had a vivid image of him with his forehead resting against it as he shut his eyes and tried to swallow his frustration. 

Poor Lancelot… he didn't deserve this, and she only had herself to blame. She wasn't responsible for Agravaine's treachery, of course, but if she'd done what she should've done in the first place, it would've never come to this. Why had she been too frightened to make a choice when this had first started? What on earth had led her to believe she could keep them both, regardless of her reasoning, without it turning into a catastrophe?

Well, it was too late now. 

With tears streaming down her face, she stripped out of the satin dress, hot, uncomfortable, and far too tight to allow her body to heave with the sobs that were swiftly building inside her. Clad in her fine lace underclothes, she curled up on the bed and cried like her heart was breaking, too distraught to give any thought to being overheard until there was a soft knock on the door.

"Gwen? Gwen, please…"

"Leave me alone!"

She buried her face in the pillow after that, sobbing uncontrollably until she had nothing left to give, then sitting up and looking around the room as she was hit by another awful realization.

Everything she saw was comforting, familiar, safe… and it would all be lost to her in just a few short hours. She'd never sleep here again, never make breakfast in the tiny kitchen she loved, never have the solace of knowing there was at least _one_ place that belonged to no one else but her. Instead, she'd be sleeping in Arthur's chambers, surrounded by finery she cared nothing about… sharing a bed with a man who snored like a pig while Merlin popped in and out making inappropriate comments whenever he pleased.

Just as she was on the verge of breaking down again, she spotted a collection of wedding gifts piled on the table, including a trio of small blue bottles. 

Yes, a drink was _definitely_ in order.

By the end of the first cup of wine, she came to the conclusion that a second was needed... and by the time she was ready to pour the third, her eyes were fixed on the silhouette just outside her window. Remembering how chilly it was outside, she couldn't bring herself to continue without offering him something to warm his bones. Surely that wouldn't do any harm?

He said nothing when he came inside, only gazed back at her through soft brown eyes as he sat down and raised the cup to his lips. And just like that, her troubles melted away beneath the realization of how desperately she loved him, how much she needed to be with him just one more time before she had to give him up. Their tomorrows were bleak, but there was still tonight, a few hours left for her to lose herself in his arms. How could she turn her back on that chance without regretting it for the rest of her life?

As soon as he drained his third glass, she was kissing him fiercely, swallowing one last reminder of the need for caution... a feeble warning that died away completely when she grabbed his hands and brought them to her breasts. There was none of his usual finesse in the way he ripped her chemise and pushed it off her shoulders, but she didn't care; she was too busy rubbing insistently against his hardness as she straddled his hips, half drunk and completely out of her mind with desire.

"Lancelot, I need…" she gasped as he drew one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking it hard. "I… please, _now_."

She wasn't sure how they ended up naked in her bed; the next thing she knew, she was on top of him, lifting her hips as he reached down to make a hasty adjustment. Feeling the tip of him pressing against her, she took him into herself just a little at a time, thick and hard, filling her so completely she felt the beginnings of her climax stirring before she even started to move.

But move she did, rocking back and forth in a rhythm that felt as natural as breathing, tossing her head back with a throaty moan as the sweet tension flooded through her body, driving her higher and higher as he grabbed her hips to help her along. He stared up at her in rapt fascination, sweat beading his forehead as he whispered in a husky voice that made her quiver right down to the tips of her toes.

"Yes, Gwen. Let go…"

That was all it took to send her over the edge, crying out something she'd never remember as she arched her back and shuddered, her body finally relaxing as she slumped against his chest. He kissed her damp curls, her forehead, tilting her chin up to reach her lips as he wrapped his arms around her and pushed up into her a few more times, slow and gentle, in an effort to draw out the lingering waves of her release.

The rest of that night would always be a blur – somehow ending up on her back with him braced above her, staring down at her with fire in his eyes as he'd thrusted fast and hard, straining to reach his own moment of ecstasy. She'd have vague memories of his body shaking in her arms soon thereafter, his face buried against her neck as he'd whispered her name like a prayer... so tender she'd always believe her own sweat had been mingled with tears by the end of it all.

She'd remember him holding her afterwards, the feeling of him growing soft inside her because neither had been willing to sever the connection just yet. And then there'd be some faint recollection of telling him to leave before it was too late, yet snuggling closer to his warmth and letting her eyes drift closed in the peaceful darkness…

Most of all, she'd never forget her return to consciousness… the moment she'd opened her eyes in the harsh light of morning to find Arthur staring down at the two of them in horrified fury.


	103. From Bad to Worse

#  **Chapter 103: From Bad to Worse**

* * *

"Tell me everything!" Morgana grabbed Agravaine's hand, squeezing it tightly as she waited for him to proceed.

"Well," he said, smiling at her as he warmed to the subject. "Arthur was dressed in all his wedding finery as we left the palace. I was at his side, of course, followed by the knights and Merlin. At the rear of the procession were Gaius and all the other court officials, along with guests of high rank. We made our way through the streets as every citizen in Camelot lined up to watch our progress, smiling and cheering for their king and future queen. There were hundreds of them, Morgana, all waiting with bated breath as we approached her door."

"Go on," she prodded, trembling with excitement.

"Arthur knocked quietly in an effort not to startle his blushing bride. She didn't answer right away, so he pushed the door open."

"Lancelot was inside? What did he see? Because you know my brother – if he can pretend there was nothing going on, he will."

Agravaine allowed for a dramatic pause before he said, "They were lying naked in Guinevere's bed."

Morgana's eyes widened. "Were they…?"

"No, they were deeply asleep." At her expression of disappointment, he continued, "As Arthur stepped into the room, a ray of sunlight fell across the bed, and that's when he saw them. The bride he'd come to claim was on her back with her legs spread wide like some whore in a brothel, wearing nothing except the sweetest little satisfied smile on her lips. Her arms were still wrapped around her lover, hair all wild and tangled like she'd just been fucked into oblivion. Oh, pardon my language, I…"

She shook her head impatiently. "Continue."

"And there was Lancelot sprawled out half on top of her with his hand on her breast, bare-assed for all the world to see. But the _best_ part…"

"Tell me!"

"He… he was still _inside_ her, my lady. Must have fallen asleep that way."

"And Arthur could see it?" Her eyes were almost feverish now.

"Yes. Oh, it was magnificent. Arthur roars like some kind of wounded animal and Lancelot jerks awake, looking up at him with the most horrified expression you've ever seen in your life. And Arthur… well, he's staring right at his cock as it slips out of her and then he's flying across the room with his sword aloft, aiming directly for his heart."

"Go on, Agravaine, go on!"

"I'll tell you, Morgana, I've never seen anyone move so fast. Just a blur, and Lancelot's on his feet with his own sword unsheathed, blocking and deflecting every blow that comes his way. It was chaos, especially when Guinevere started screaming, begging Arthur for mercy, so distraught she didn't even think to cover herself until Sir Gwaine hurried forward and threw his cloak over her. By that time, Arthur and Lancelot were out in the street…"

Morgana stared at him in fascination. "And Lancelot was still…?"

He smirked at her. "Still naked, yes. Oh, you should've seen their faces, Morgana. The citizens who gathered to watch, I mean. They looked like…"

"So who was killed? Tell me!"

Shaking his head, he said, "No one. Gwaine and Percival were able to intervene when Arthur stumbled and dropped his sword. They restrained him long enough to… well, let's just say he's merely heartbroken and furious now, rather than homicidal like he was in the beginning. Gaius has been treating him with calming draughts all day… finally got him to sleep just a little while before I slipped out to come here."

Her face was unreadable. "And… Lancelot and Gwen?"

"Locked up in the dungeons, though I doubt the two of them are getting any sleep tonight."

"I see." She looked at him thoughtfully. "Arthur publicly humiliated in the worst possible way, his heart smashed to bits at the same time? To say I'm pleased would be an understatement, but your work isn't finished, Agravaine. Not yet."

"What would you have me do, my lady? You know I'm at your disposal."

She gave him a cunning smile. "Do you know the penalty for treason, including adultery?"

He nodded. "Of course. Execution. But in this case, I doubt Arthur will go through with it. He was already muttering something about banishment this afternoon."

Morgana pursed her lips. "Yes, I was afraid of that."

"Surely it doesn't matter now? There can be no chance Guinevere will ever become queen after this travesty, and Lancelot's knighthood has already been stripped away. They'll just go back to what they were in the first place – insignificant peasants who will no doubt be shoveling pig shit before the year is over."

"No," she said. "Not good enough. The execution _must_ take place, and I'm charging you with the task of seeing that it does."

"I don't think Arthur will ever…"

"Then persuade him, trick him, enchant him if it pleases you to do so. Just make sure it happens."

"May I ask why, my lady?"

It was a testament to her unusually good mood that she didn't chastise him for his impertinence. "Because Guinevere will never cease to be a threat to me until she's dead. Lancelot? I don't have any quarrel with him, but I want her to suffer through his loss and know she's the one to blame for it. Yes, make sure she's forced to watch him die."

"Of course."

"And Arthur… no doubt this betrayal has wounded him deeply, which is a victory in itself. But sooner or later, that precious conscience of his takes precedence over all other things. Imagine what it will do to him to live with the knowledge that he killed two of the people he loves most in this world. Eventually, Agravaine, it will not matter what they've done. He'll hold himself responsible for their deaths, and it will break him."

"Oh, I see…" He smirked up at her. "As always, your ability to see things from all possible angles is without equal. Your wisdom, your foresight…"

"Don't flatter me, Agravaine," she said impatiently. "Just tell me what you intend to do."

"Well, I fear there will be resistance, especially from the knights. We must not forget that Guinevere's own brother holds a high position; I don't think he'll just stand by and watch as his sister is tied to the stake. Getting Arthur to agree to this will not be easy, and a single dissenting voice could very well spoil everything."

She frowned. "Yes, that's true. Shall I prepare an enchantment for him then?"

"I have another idea."

* * *

"A journey?" The king stared up at Agravaine through dull, lifeless eyes. "I don't know that this is the time for…"

"Sire, I can't even begin to imagine the pain you must be going through right now. Can you trust yourself to make rational decisions in your present state of mind? You need some time away, a chance to clear your head and regain your bearings so we can move on from this terrible experience. How can you hope to do that here, with traitors still locked in our dungeon and reminders of their betrayal all around you?"

"There's nothing I'd like better than to escape all this for a little while," Arthur said wistfully. "But how can I do that? It's my responsibility to see that justice is done, that the situation is resolved as soon as possible. I cannot leave them to languish in their cells while I slip off for a holiday."

Agravaine forced his lips into a sympathetic smile. "You can always go to Nemeth to handle those territorial disputes – an important matter of state, not shirking your duties. Meanwhile, I can remain here and deal with this unpleasant business in your stead. By the time you return, they will be gone, the whisperings of the townsfolk will have died away, and we can turn our eyes to a brighter future."

Arthur buried his head in his hands. "Yes, I… to tell you the truth, I've been dreading having to pass sentence myself. Whatever they've done, they're still…"

"I know," Agravaine said, his voice soft and soothing. "So why not acknowledge your conflict of interest in this matter and allow someone you trust to spare you the worst of it? The end result will be the same – traitors punished, kingdom restored to rights."

"I… all right. Yes. That certainly sounds like the wisest course of action. If you can put all the arrangements in order by then, I'll leave on the morrow."

"It would be my honor, sire." Agravaine executed a low bow to hide his triumphant smirk. But as he turned to leave, Arthur called him back.

"You know my wishes as to the nature of their punishment? They're to be treated with mercy, not…"

Agravaine hastily cut him off before he could finish. "Of course. I'll make sure they're sentenced fairly, in a manner that is appropriate with the crime they've committed. Nothing more. You can count on me to do what's right."

"Thank you, Uncle."

* * *

Gwaine burst into the physician's chamber, slamming the door behind him as his eyes frantically searched the room.

"Gaius! There you are. So glad you're here, I need a bandage. Big one. Can you wrap it around my middle like you would for cracked ribs?"

The old man frowned as he stepped closer. "Are you injured, Gwaine? I'd need to examine you thoroughly before deciding what treatment might be needed."

"Perfectly healthy. I just need it to _look_ like I've been knocked around a bit."

That comment was met by a skeptical eyebrow and a frown of disapproval. "If you're playing another prank on Percival, I'll have no part of it this time."

Gwaine shook his head emphatically. "No! No… though you have to admit that was pretty funny. Anyway, can you do it? Please? I'm running out of time."

Gaius must've sensed that his request had a legitimate reason this time; motioning for him to take his shirt off, he shuffled over to a nearby shelf and cut off a long, wide strip of clean linen.

"Would you like to tell me what this is all about now?" he said, prodding him to lift his arms.

"Arthur leaves within the hour."

"Yes, I know. Merlin is going with him. Seems best under the circumstances – terrible business with the wedding and all. Terrible indeed."

"Not just Merlin – he's taking everyone aside from some lower ranking knights he's leaving behind to stand guard over the city in his absence."

"Well," Gaius said as he wrapped the bandage tightly around Gwaine's midsection. "I imagine he needs his friends around him at such a difficult time."

"Yes, but… hey, go a little easy there, will you? I still need to breathe. Anyway, that's the problem. He's leaving Agravaine to rule in his stead."

"Not surprising. Lord Agravaine might not be my first choice – yours either, from what I'm guessing – but he's done it before, and…"

Gwaine shook his head again. "You don't understand. Agravaine has been left with the responsibility of passing sentence on Lancelot and Gwen. He convinced Arthur to leave the city, and to take all of us with him. I know he did. And I think I know why."

Gaius gave him a skeptical look. "Everyone knows that banishment would be the only punishment Arthur would be able to condone in good conscience. I've no doubt he's left specific instructions to that effect. Agravaine would never risk such an open defiance of policy… to do so would be to jeopardize his own standing."

"I'm not so sure about that. Arthur's not himself right now… barely speaks, seems hardly aware of what's going on around him more often than not. Last night, he was taking sips from an empty glass for at least twenty minutes before one of the servants noticed and filled it again."

"Well, he's had his heart broken. Such a reaction is only to be expected."

Gwaine leaned forward. "Only to be expected. That's my point. Agravaine would've known what to say to convince him to go, just as I'm sure he would've found a way to avoid agreeing to banishment rather than a death sentence. He means to execute them in Arthur's absence. I know he does."

"But why would he want to do that?"

"Because he's a treacherous bastard! He's had it out for both of them since the beginning, and Arthur as well! That business on the morning of their wedding was bad enough, but I'm guessing he's not satisfied to stop at that. Now he's going in for the kill."

Gaius gave him a hard stare, searching his face. "You believe Agravaine was responsible for Lancelot and Gwen being discovered in a compromising position? Because Merlin tells me it wasn't the first time they…"

"The sunrise wedding? The wine? Conveniently arranging it so Lancelot was the one guarding her door that night? He pulled one over on all of us, humiliating Arthur…"

"Yes, but Lancelot and Gwen played their own part. They're far from innocent, as much as it pains me to say so."

"That doesn't mean they deserve to die."

"No," Gaius agreed. "It doesn't."

"That's why I need to stay behind and do whatever I can to make sure that doesn't happen," Gwaine said, lowering himself on the bed and affecting a pained expression. "This was the first thing I could think of as a reasonable excuse not to go along."

"I see. But if you're wrong…"

"If I'm wrong, I get a little time off and maybe a chance to say farewell to my friends before they're forced to leave for good. No harm done. But if I'm _right_ …"

Merlin rushed into the room just then, his eyes immediately falling on Gwaine. "There you are! What's happened? I've been looking for you everywhere; we're riding out in five minutes!"

Gaius cleared his throat. "Tell Arthur that Gwaine won't be coming along. He's in no condition to travel – physician's orders."

"But I saw you less than an hour ago and you were fine! I know you haven't been down to the training grounds, so…"

"I'm staying here to keep an eye on things," Gwaine interrupted quietly. "I don't trust Agravaine."

Merlin sighed, sitting down on the bed beside him. "Yes, I know. But I was at least able to convince Arthur to leave Elyan behind, which Agravaine agreed to, surprisingly enough. Got all sentimental talking about how a brother had a right to wish his sister a proper goodbye."

"Well," Gwaine said, his voice thoughtful. "Elyan hasn't been taking any of this very well, but if he's the man I hope he is, I'll still be able to count on his help if it comes to that. If not…"

"I'm sure it'll be fine. He'd never let anything happen to Gwen, angry or not."

"Right. Best be off with you."

Merlin nodded, then rose and headed for the door. He was halfway out before he stopped and turned around.

"Gwaine?"

"Yeah?"

"I… uh, best of luck to you."

"Thanks. Expect I'll be needing it."

* * *

It felt as if he'd been waiting forever; in reality, it couldn't have been more than an hour or two before Gaius returned from the Council Chamber, his slow, shuffling steps even heavier than usual as he crossed the room.

"What is it?" Gwaine questioned impatiently. "I can tell by the look on your face it isn't good."

Gaius let out a heavy sigh. "You were right on both counts – Agravaine was ready to pass sentence as soon as he knew Arthur was beyond our borders, and that sentence is execution. He didn't even give them a trial."

"Oh hell… when?"

"9 o'clock tomorrow morning."

"Doesn't waste any time, does he? Spineless excuse for a damn…"

Cutting him off with a pointedly cleared throat, Gaius continued. "It gets worse."

"How?"

"Listen."

And then he heard it – the first sounds of hammering in the courtyard below. A chill skittered up his spine.

"W… what is the decree itself? How are they intended to die? Which one has been ordered to go first?"

"Together. At the same time."

Gwaine frowned. "Together?"

"Lancelot… he's to be hanged. A short drop to remove the possibility of a quick end. And the gallows are being built to face the stake where Gwen will be burned alive. Do you know what this means?"

"The most terrible executions imaginable," Gwaine whispered in a haunted voice. "Watching as the other slowly dies, all while suffering through their own torturous end. Gwen screaming in agony as Lancelot claws at the rope around his neck, fighting to breathe as he sees her go up in flames. What a twisted, sadistic… oh hell, I'm going to be sick."

It wasn't just an idle threat; he was off the bed in a flash, heaving into the empty bucket Gaius hastily shoved into his hands. Sinking back on his heels to wipe the sweat from his forehead, it took him a few minutes to recover, his body still trembling as he accepted a damp cloth and a cool glass of water from the physician. "I'm sorry, I…"

Gaius just shook his head and smiled. "I've been a healer twice as long as you've been alive, Gwaine. Rest assured, I'm not bothered by a little vomit."

"I have to stop this. I can't let them…"

"If we could just get a message to Arthur…"

"No," Gwaine told him brusquely. "That will be the first thing Agravaine would've considered, and no doubt he'll have strong measures in place to prevent it. I… did you see Elyan while you were down there?"

"I did."

"Can you find him again? Ask him to come up and speak with us? With _his_ help…"

"I don't think that would be a good idea."

Gwaine frowned. "Why not?"

"When Agravaine announced the sentence, Elyan… he _applauded_ , Gwaine."


	104. A Desperate Flight

#  **Chapter 104: A Desperate Flight**

* * *

"Supper," the guard said brusquely, setting the tray down and then leaving as quickly as he'd come.

Lancelot took one look at the unappetizing meal of stale bread and watery stew, then sighed and pushed it away. Even the thought of food made him feel like vomiting, which was exactly what had happened on the second day when he'd forced himself to eat in an effort to keep up his strength. He had no intention of making the same mistake today.

Settling for a few sips of water instead, he leaned his head back against the wall and stared up at the tiny sliver of moon through the grate above. Would this be the third night he'd spent locked in the dungeon, or the fourth? Did it matter? He was already a dead man, merely existing on borrowed time until Arthur followed through on that murderous intent he'd seen in his eyes on the morning of the ruined wedding. Part of him just wanted to get it over with already – it was the waiting, not the promise of death itself, that was the torture in all of this.

At least, he felt that way until a different guard appeared at the door to his cell, shoving what was obviously an official decree through the bars and then walking away without a word. Lancelot broke the seal, foolishly thinking he was prepared for what it would say.

Instead, the cry of denial built deep in his chest, emerging from his throat with such raw anguish that the guard immediately reappeared, one hand on the hilt of his sword.

"I need… I need to see the king. This can't… he wouldn't…"

The man shook his head. "King Arthur isn't here."

"Then go find him, please. I'm begging you…"

"Can't do it, even if I wanted to. He's not in the kingdom at present. I'm told we won't be expecting his return for at least another fortnight."

_Too late, much too late. No…_

Lancelot swallowed hard, struggling to compose himself. "Then who handed down this sentence?"

But he knew the answer before it was spoken, and with that single name, the last, faint trace of hope faded away.

* * *

It wasn't easy to reach the dungeon without being seen, even at two in the morning. The guards Gwaine had encountered along the way would have nasty headaches when they woke, and putting a sleeping draught in the jug of ale he'd commissioned a servant to deliver to those charged with looking after the prisoners wasn't as effective as he'd hoped. Two were still awake when he arrived, obligating him to knock them out cold and stuff them in the nearest alcove.

"Sorry about this," he muttered, trying to arrange their limp bodies so they'd at least be somewhat comfortable. "For a good cause, I assure you."

Finally, he was at the door to the cell, keys in hand as he peered through the bars at the man lying huddled on the floor. He looked so… small… broken. And even though Gwaine wasn't exactly quiet about it, there wasn't so much as a flicker of movement as he unlocked the door and slipped inside. Was Lancelot sleeping? No… his eyes were wide open, staring at nothing.

"Come on, let's get you out of here."

But Lancelot didn't seem to register what he was saying.

"I've killed her," he whispered, his voice so hollow that a chill skittered up Gwaine's spine. "She loved me, and I've killed her."

"Who, Gwen? Afraid you can't take credit for that, my friend, seeing as she's very much alive at the moment. But if you're talking about what's supposed to happen in the morning, seems Agravaine is the only one to blame for that."

"My fault. I should've…"

Gwaine shook his head, kneeling beside him. "No sense in regretting something that hasn't even happened yet, especially when we still have time to prevent it. Let's go."

Something finally flickered in Lancelot's eyes. "You've come to rescue me?"

"Obviously."

"Leave me then. Just get her out of here. Take her somewhere safe, please. The rest doesn't matter."

Gwaine sighed in exasperation. "Your cell was closer and the door is already open. Come on – we can both play the hero."

But just as they emerged, there was the sound of heavy footfalls, followed by the bright flicker of at least a dozen torches coming from the other end of the corridor where Gwen was incarcerated. The voices grew louder, and then Gwaine was half guiding, half dragging Lancelot up the steps to the floor above, shoving him bodily into a storage room when he put up a resistance.

"I have to…"

"Quiet down," Gwaine hissed.

"She needs me… let me go…"

"If they find us here, you'll be right back in that cell and I'll be in the one right next to you. Then we'll have _no_ chance of saving her!"

Lancelot's breath was coming heavy in the darkness that surrounded them, wild and panicked, but he at least spoke a little more quietly when he said, "You don't understand. In the morning…"

"Yes, I know. But we still have a few hours yet. Pull yourself together and we can still figure out how to get _both_ of you out of this mess."

"You're right," Lancelot said after a moment, sounding much more like himself. "Forgive me."

They both fell silent as the footsteps drew closer, Agravaine's hateful voice perfectly audible through the thin wooden door. "No, no need to search for him. No doubt he'll be expecting that, and he knows our defenses better than any of you do. Just wait – he'll expose his whereabouts as soon as he tries to rescue her, which I guarantee will happen before the night is over. I want you at the door to her cell – _all_ of you – until it's time to take her to the executioner. Sir Elyan? You're in charge."

"Shit," Gwaine muttered under his breath as the voices faded away. "All right, let's think about this."

"If you can get me a sword, we can take them. I know we can!"

"There has to be twelve of them at least, and forgive me for saying so, but you're not exactly in top form at the moment. Haven't been eating again, am I right?"

"We have to try," Lancelot whispered urgently. "There's no other choice!"

"Wait… maybe there is. If we can just get to the stables and hide you in the hayloft until morning… I've got an idea."

It took three hours, several unconscious bodies, a few words of persuasion, and at least a dozen well-placed bribes, but finally, Lancelot was in position with a solid plan to work with. A plan that was risky to the point of insanity, perhaps, but determination was on his side… helped by the fact that Camelot's citizens still felt some sense of allegiance to the knight who'd always served them with compassion and understanding.

More than that, they were loyal to their king, a man they knew to be so merciful that few among them could believe he'd condone the horror that was about to unfold. And so Sir Lancelot, the title by which the majority still called him, met no resistance as he saddled his fine white stallion and prepared for the most important ride of his life.

* * *

Gwen was ready when they came for her, staring at nothing through hollow eyes as they pulled her to her feet and escorted her out of the cell. Her tears had long since been exhausted, the endless night of terror having finally dissipated into numb resignation. Lancelot had gotten away and that was all that mattered – what she was about to go through would simply have to be endured until her suffering came to its inevitable conclusion.

She tried not to think about the awful experience of being burned alive, the rank odor of smoldering flesh and terrible screams that had permeated the city whenever Uther had carried out an execution in this manner. Instead, she focused on the empty gallows that would stand as a constant reminder that not all was lost, even when her own life was beyond any hope of salvation. 

Yes, she could do this… she could be brave and stoic, and…

But then she stumbled, the courage draining out of her like a cask of ale emptying its contents all over the ground. Her legs started to tremble, soon shaking so violently she could hardly walk by the time she reached the towering pile of sticks and logs that was soon to become her funeral pyre.

No, she wasn't ready to die. Not like this. She put up a futile struggle as they lashed her to the stake, rough ropes digging into her skin until she cried out in pain, then sobbed brokenly upon the realization that her current discomfort was nothing compared with the unspeakable agony to come.

"Guinevere," Agravaine's voice rang out across the courtyard. "Citizen of Camelot, once pledged in service to the royal family and formerly betrothed to our beloved king. You are here to pay the penalty for the crimes of fornication and adultery, a treasonous act in accordance with the statutes laid down by…

She spotted her brother then, staring at her through the eyes of a stranger as he stood beside the man who was passing her sentence with no small amount of relish in his smooth, modulated voice.

"Elyan! Elyan, please…"

"… condemned to death by fire, all properties to be distributed to your only surviving kin…"

" _Elyan!_ "

As if from some great distance, she heard herself pleading with them to wait until Arthur returned, confirming beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was what he wanted. Her frantic cries were met with no response, not even when the crowd grew restless, more than a few calling out that this was not the king's justice and that there must be another way.

Agravaine ignored them, smirking at her as he leaned over to speak with the executioner.

And then the black hooded figure was moving closer… the torch in his hand was blinding, stinging her tear swollen eyes as he touched it to the tinder at her feet. Once, twice, and soon she was struggling to breathe, hysterical sobs interspersed with fits of violent coughing as the flames slowly traveled upward, scorching the soles of her shoes, licking at the hem of her skirt…

That was when she saw him rising out of the smoke, dressed in full armor with his red cape billowing proudly behind him. With a shout of fury, he parted the crowd like some giant scythe, his horse rearing up on its hind legs as he brought it to an abrupt standstill just a few paces away. He slid from its back in one smooth motion, shoving aside the few guards who were still foolish enough to believe they could prevent him from reaching her side.

Agravaine was the last; Lancelot's fist slammed into his fleshy face, dropping him like a stone.

His sword came out of its sheath then, glinting in the sunlight as he spat some violent curse she couldn't quite overhear. He glared at the man who was cowering at his feet, eyes wild as he raised the weapon above his head, but she cried out his name before he could strike.

Part of her wanted him to kill the deplorable bastard right then and there, but she let out a wordless scream instead as the blistering heat drew closer, a terrible scorching pain shooting up the inside of her calf.

In the blink of an eye, he was beside her, sawing through the ropes and lifting her in his arms, breathing hard in her ear as he hopped to the ground. All she could do was cling to his neck and sob against his shoulder, weeping as if she'd never stop as he knocked the executioner out of their way with a savage kick to the stomach. He lifted her onto his horse and vaulted up behind her, steadying her with an arm around her waist before urging the stallion forward with a hoarse, commanding shout.

They flew through the city, buildings and people nothing but a blur on either side as the cool, rushing wind cleared the last of the acrid smoke from her lungs. From behind, she thought she heard someone screaming for the guards to close the gates, but it was too late… they were beyond them now, galloping across the open countryside.

Free.

Lancelot didn't slow his frantic pace for what seemed like hours, not until they were well away from the city. When they finally came to a halt on a low rise, she lifted her head from his shoulder, surprised to discover they were not alone.

Gwaine was sitting on a fallen log, grinning triumphantly as he watched them approach. 

"Told you it would work!"

Dismounting and then helping her to the ground, Lancelot paused to wipe the heavy sheen of sweat from his brow before turning to search her face with anxious eyes. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head. It wasn't exactly true – her wrists and ankles were raw from the bindings and she could feel the stinging pain of burns on her lower legs and feet. But compared to what could've happened, those injuries seemed too insignificant to mention.

"Did you kill him?"

Lancelot glanced over at Gwaine. "No," he said quietly. "I wanted to, but there wasn't time."

"Probably best you didn't. He's got a hell of a lot to answer for, and I'd hate to see Arthur deprived of the satisfaction of carrying out his own justice. Deserves much worse than the quick end he would've met on the point of your sword, that's for sure."

"That's where you're going now?"

Gwaine nodded. "To meet up with Arthur, yes. I'll be damned if I'm going to let that snake get to him before I do, filling his head with a bunch of lies. But first, here…" He stood up and reached in his saddle bag, withdrawing a large sack and handing it to Lancelot. "Bit of food, water, couple of blankets, and that bag you asked me to retrieve from your quarters. Best I could do."

"No, this is wonderful. I don't know how to thank you for this… for everything."

"Ah, don't mention it," Gwaine said carelessly as he swung into his saddle. "Just send word when you settle in somewhere, eh?"

"Of course," Gwen whispered, finally having recovered enough to speak. "Take care of yourself, Gwaine. And… thank you."

He said nothing in response, only winked at her before he turned and rode away. They watched his silhouette growing smaller and smaller in the distance, and then Lancelot came up behind her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Are you able to ride for a few more hours? I'd like to reach the border before we stop for the night if possible, but if you aren't feeling up to it…"

She turned to him, managing a wan smile. "No, I'm fine. Let's keep going."

In truth, she was exhausted, wishing for nothing more than to curl up right there in the soft grass and not open her eyes again for days. But he'd been so strong for her, brave enough to put his own life at risk without hesitation in order to save hers. The least she could do was ignore her own discomfort for a little while longer so they could reach somewhere safe by nightfall.

All the same, they'd ridden no more than twenty minutes before she was fast asleep in his arms.


	105. Picking up the Pieces

#  **Chapter 105: Picking up the Pieces**

* * *

Lancelot was weary to the bone by the time he found a suitable place to make camp for the night. It was a decent sized alcove, surrounded on three sides by a sheer face of rock which would block out the worst of the wind and make the position easy to defend if it became necessary to do so. There was even a water source – a small stream that trickled out from a crevice between the stones, winding away until it disappeared into the forest behind them.

Bringing his horse to a standstill, he murmured, "Gwen? We're here."

She was barely conscious when she slid into his arms, sound asleep again by the time he'd lowered her gently onto a bed of fallen leaves. Wanting nothing more than to lie down beside her, he forced himself to stay on his feet long enough to feed and water the horse, gather wood for a small fire, and retrieve the blankets from his saddle bag.

 _Bless Gwaine_ , he thought tiredly. There were three of them, thick and warm, one he spread over the horse, one to cover the ground where he carefully shifted Gwen's sleeping body, and one to drape over her before he straightened to remove his armor, placing his sword within arm's reach of where he'd lay. It briefly occurred to him that he should eat something, but his hunger was overruled by sheer exhaustion. Stretching out on his back, he hardly had the strength to draw her into his arms before he closed his eyes and knew no more.

When he awoke again, it was to a low hiss of pain. He sat up and blinked hard, adjusting to the bright morning sunlight before he spotted her sitting beside him, skirts hiked up past her knees. She was staring down at the blistered red streaks that covered her lower legs, tears streaming down her cheeks as she touched the blood crusted circles around her ankles where the rope had cut into her skin.

"Gwen! Good lord, what…?"

She jumped, then forced a smile as she glanced over at him. "I'm fine. Really, it doesn't hurt much."

"You should've told me," he said as he moved to kneel in front of her. "Yesterday… you should've told me."

"I barely felt it then. Too tired, too much in shock, I don't know. Besides, there's nothing to be done about it. I'm sure it will heal on its own."

"Come," he said quietly, rising to his feet. "Can you walk, or shall I carry you?"

"I'm perfectly capable of…" But then she winced, lowering herself back to the ground. "I'm fine, I just need a minute."

"The bottom of your feet are covered in blisters! Damn it, I knew I should've killed the bastard. Here, put your arms around my neck."

A few minutes later, she was settled beside the stream, sighing in relief as the cold water soothed her injuries. He'd just started to turn away when he caught her out of the corner of his eye, pushing up her sleeves to expose the abrasions on her wrists before leaning forward to plunge them beneath the surface as well.

Cursing under his breath, he forced himself to turn away. "Are you hungry?" he called as he rummaged through the supplies Gwaine had given them.

"Starving."

It was a meager breakfast, just bread and cheese and a bit of dried meat, but he felt better than he had in days by the time the meal was over, and there was a bit more color in her cheeks as well. He was eager to reach the place he'd finally decided upon after much deliberation… the heavy pouch Gwaine had smuggled from his quarters would do little good out here in the wilderness. But the thought of Gwen being in pain…

And then he had an idea. Pulling his shirt off, he began tearing it into long strips, dropping them on the bank of the stream.

"Lancelot, what are you doing? You have no other clothes and it's freezing out here!"

"We'll reach a proper inn sometime over the next few days," he said as he dipped the torn fabric in the water and started binding her injuries. "Besides, I still have my cloak and mail."

She frowned. "But how are we going to pay for…?"

He lifted her carefully, settling her on the horse before vaulting up behind her. "I'll take care of it."

* * *

They rode from sunrise to sunset, with Lancelot stopping every so often to wet the makeshift bandages again before reapplying them with gentle fingers. Gwen was still hurting, but it was nothing compared with the first morning, waking up from a nightmare that her flesh was on fire only for the agonizing sensation to remain with her until he'd had enough common sense to figure out what to do. That was a testament to how much pain she'd been in, unable to think of even the most obvious solution to alleviate it.

Around midafternoon on the first day, they stopped to have a bite from their swiftly dwindling food supply, followed by an uncomfortable debate when she'd needed to relieve herself and refused to allow him to assist her. It had been torture to hobble behind a cluster of bushes on her blistered feet, but she'd lost enough as it was. She'd be damned if she was adding whatever dignity she still had left to that list.

Immediate concerns pushed any thought of the future to the wayside. Gwen was too worried about what she'd do if her courses came upon her before they reached civilization, or what would become of them with such a small amount of food and no money to purchase more. Beyond that, she was still too drained to absorb the enormity of what had happened to them or what it meant just yet.

They hardly talked when it wasn't necessary to do so, their conversation limited to whether she was ready to stop for the night, how her injuries were feeling, or if it was safe to start a fire. It would've been worrisome if she hadn't understood that he was recovering just as she was, struggling to get his bearings in a world that had transformed overnight.

And yet he remained her strength, her comfort, arms wrapped securely around her waist during their endless rides, and then holding her close when they crawled beneath the blankets to sleep at the end of a long day. Unlike her, emotional turmoil had not interfered with his desire; that much had been obvious when she'd taken off her dress on the second night to give herself a makeshift bath.

The look in his eyes when she'd caught him staring at her, a smoldering gaze that had seemed to warm her all over despite the cold water she'd been splashing over her breasts… she'd felt a familiar stirring in response, even as she'd forced herself to turn away.

But despite his own needs, Lancelot never tried to initiate anything beyond holding her in the darkness, for which she was immensely grateful. She didn't want to deny him, but she was just so tired… too drained to give anything more than the minimum required to survive each day.

 _Soon_ , she told herself as she closed her eyes on the third night with her head resting on his chest, listening to the rhythmic breathing that told her he was already asleep. Soon she'd feel like herself again, and they'd heal the distance between them.

Yes… soon, all would be well.

* * *

A cry of terror rent the early morning air; in a flash, Lancelot was sitting bolt upright with his sword clutched in one hand, his bleary eyes searching for the unknown threat. But there was none… only Gwen lying beside him, her body writhing in the throes of a terrible nightmare as she opened her mouth to unleash another scream.

"Gwen? Gwen!" He grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her gently and then pulling her into his arms to whisper in her ear. "Wake up, Gwen, it's me."

She struggled against him, pummeling his chest with her fists. "No… no! Let me go…"

"Gwen, please…" he pleaded, lowering her back to the ground with the realization that any attempt to restrain her was only making it worse. "It's just a dream. Open your eyes, please… look at me."

But she only seemed to pick up on that one word, crying out in a pitiful voice as tears streamed from beneath her closed lids. "Please. Please…"

"Gwen, It's me… I'm here."

She thrashed back and forth, as if fighting to free herself from invisible bonds. "Don't!"

" _Gwen!_ "

With a sharp gasp, she opened her eyes, unfocused and terrified and then filled with bewilderment as she stared up into his worried face. And then she was heaving with broken sobs, arms reaching for him with as much desperation as she'd pushed him away just a few minutes before. He held her close, stroking her sweat dampened curls as he rocked her back and forth.

Most of her words were indistinguishable, but he caught the only one that mattered: **Fire**.   
That told him all he needed to know.

"It's all right," he whispered against her hair. "You're safe now."

"I… I can s-still s-smell it," she managed after a few minutes, her voice trembling between sobs. "S-still f-feel the h-heat on my s-skin."

"Shhh." He rubbed her back in soothing circles. "It's over."

"I c-can still see his f-face… he w-wanted… he wanted to see me s-suffer… to hear my screams…"

Lancelot closed his eyes, pushing down a sudden flare of murderous rage. Bloody Agravaine. "It's all right," he said again, his voice soft and soothing. "I'm here. Nobody will ever hurt you like that again. I'll kill them if they try, I swear I will."

Something in those words seemed to break through her distress somehow. To his surprise, she let out a little laugh, albeit a strange one as she sniffled at the same time.

"Don't you ever get tired of rescuing me?"

He smiled. "No." Leaning back, he peered down into her tear stained face. "Do you remember what I said to you years ago, when we were escaping from Hengist's fortress and I told you to go on without me?"

She frowned, searching for the memory. "You… you said you'd die for me a hundred times over."

"Yes. And since I haven't even done that once as of yet, I don't believe you need to worry that you've exhausted my reserves."

There were a few minutes of silence; somehow they were lying down again, arms wrapped around each other with his forehead resting against hers.

"Do you remember what I said to you?" she asked him quietly.

"You said your feelings for me would never fade."

"I meant it."

"I know," he whispered, pausing to give her a soft, lingering kiss.

"Lancelot?"

"Hmmm?"

"Would you do something for me?"

"Anything."

Her blush was unexpected, until she whispered, "I want to… to…"

She pressed her hips against him and his body reacted instantly, the desire he'd been suppressing rushing through him and finding its center in his swiftly rising erection. All the same, he had to ask, "Are you sure?"

"Yes, but if you don't want to… I know I must look terrible, and… oh!"

"You were saying?" he asked her a moment later, lifting his head from one exposed nipple just long enough to move to the other.

"I… ah, I don't remember."

"Neither do I."

Sensing what she needed, he took his time, satisfying her once and then again with his hands and mouth before giving any thought to his own pleasure. When he finally settled himself between her thighs, he kept the pace slow and gentle, his own arousal remaining at a low, steady hum as he kissed her tenderly, then moved to whisper sensuous things in her ear… how beautiful she was, how much he needed her, how amazing it felt to be inside her.

In truth, there were no words to describe how blissful it was to bury himself in her velvety heat, feeling her cradle him from within as she held him close and moaned softly against his neck. And then suddenly, he was hit by the full impact of this new reality… that she was his and his alone for the very first time.

"Gwen…"

As she gazed up at him through a haze of passion, her lips parting to whisper his name in response, he knew she felt it, too. The fear was gone, leaving behind an entire world of possibility that neither had allowed themselves to consider until that moment. Just the thought of it was enough to make him want to reach for the stars, devouring her mouth as he drove into her again and again, the intensity rising between them until they both cried out and fell apart in each other's arms.

He held her afterwards, gazing up at the brilliant blue sky as he reveled in the knowledge that never again would there be someone to tell him this was forbidden, that he must turn his back on something that felt more natural to him than breathing. The decision was hers now, as it should've been all along, and judging by the way she nuzzled his chest with a soft sigh of contentment, it seemed as if her choice was made.

"Gwen?"

"Hmmm?"

"Do you regret it?"

For a while, she said nothing, the silence stretching on for so long that he wondered if she was going to respond at all. But then she murmured, "No, I don't. I'm deeply sorry others were hurt, and it isn't easy to leave behind the only home I've ever known. But I can't bring myself to wish that it hadn't happened… not when every other alternative meant losing you."

He let out a sigh of relief. "I feel the same, though I hate that you had to sacrifice so much because of me. I wish I could…"

"I knew what I was doing," she interrupted, raising up on one elbow and staring down at him intently. "Even from the beginning, I knew the risk I was taking and what I might be giving up. Please… I know you, Lancelot. Don't carry the weight of that guilt on your shoulders. I chose this for myself."

He nodded, not sure he could let it go completely, but willing to try for her sake. "There's something I'd like to know…"

"There's no reason for there to be secrets between us anymore. Ask."

"Why did you accept Arthur's proposal?"

Biting her lip, she hesitated for only a moment before telling him the truth.

"I suspected Agravaine was behind it somehow, but I had no idea he'd stoop as low as that. I should have… if I had known…"

She shook her head. "There's nothing you could've done, even if I'd told you. And after what he did to Elyan, the way he struck him down, I wasn't willing to take that chance. He has magic, Lancelot… either that or there's someone helping him who does."

"Well, at least we know his motivation now. That was the one thing Gwaine and I couldn't figure out."

"He wanted to hurt Arthur in the worst possible way. Humiliate him, using me as the weapon."

"Yes."

"Well, he certainly succeeded," she said sadly. "Poor Arthur. I wish we could've spared him the embarrassment at least, that we'd been able to tell him in some more dignified way. But I still don't understand how we managed to fall asleep that morning when we knew he'd be arriving in a couple of hours. We'd always been so careful…"

"The wine," Lancelot said quietly.

She frowned. "But we only had a couple glasses."

"Which wine was it? What did the bottle look like?"

"It was small and blue, the same wine I was drinking on the night of the engagement cele…" she trailed off, her eyes growing wide.

"I thought so, though I didn't realize it at the time since I never saw the bottle," he said, reaching out to take her hand. "That was no ordinary wine. Gwaine told me what it was after I noticed the way you and Arthur were behaving at the feast."

"So that's why I felt so… well, you know. After the celebration, Arthur and I…"

He shook his head emphatically. "I don't hold anything against you. You know that, Gwen. But I don't particularly want to know the details either."

"Did you think…?" she burst out laughing. "No, definitely not. Other than groping me a little, all he did was fall asleep and snore in my ear all night."

"That's all?"

She smiled, then settled back down beside him. "That's all. Despite Agravaine's best efforts, it seems you're still my first and only."

Lancelot released the breath he'd been holding in a huge sigh of relief. "I'm glad… I mean, it wouldn't have changed anything either way, but…"

"What was in it anyway? The wine."

"Gwaine said it was some sort of aphrodisiac. You know, it makes you…"

Rolling her eyes, she said, "I know what an aphrodisiac is. Why did Agravaine give it to us though? That's what I don't understand."

He looked at her thoughtfully. "He must've known about us somehow. Perhaps Elyan told him? I don't know, but I guess he figured we'd…"

"Have a go at each other until we were too exhausted to move?" He felt the color rise in his face as she grinned at him. "Yes, I figured that much. What I can't understand is why he gave it to me and Arthur. Why did he want us to…?"

"He wanted Arthur to move up the wedding. The longer he had to wait, the more likely it was that something might have gone wrong."

"Oh, so that's why… I couldn't figure out why Arthur was suddenly going on and on about appearances and protecting my honor, especially when I told him nothing happened. I should've known we'd been set up… he was never like that before Agravaine came along."

She snuggled closer and he turned on his side, pulling the blanket over them both before wrapping an arm around her waist.

"He scares me, Lancelot," she whispered against his chest. "Even now. _Especially_ now."

"I'll kill him if he ever tries to hurt you again. I swear on my life, I will."

"No, not me. The others… all of them. And now there's nothing we can do to help."

He let out a heavy sigh. "Yes, that is my biggest regret. But Gwaine must've reached Arthur by now; we can only hope that what almost happened to us will serve to do some good. I hardly think Arthur will be able to excuse away anything so brutal and continue to trust Agravaine, no matter how much he's been deceived in the past."

"I hope you're right," she said softly.

They lay in silence after that, half dozing in the afternoon sunlight. "Shouldn't we be leaving soon?" she mumbled after a few minutes. "Not going to get very far today as it is."

"No," he said drowsily. "We both need a day to rest, and there's no hurry. We'll be arriving at our destination tomorrow morning."

She yawned against his chest. "Where are we going?"

"A village called Oakview. I have friends there."

"What friends?"

But by the time he started to explain, she was already asleep.


	106. A Nefarious Plot

#  **Chapter 106: A Nefarious Plot**

* * *

One red cloak was enough for Sir Gwaine to gain entry into the heavily guarded fortress, then to be ushered to the hall where a feast was taking place. He spotted Arthur first, seated at the head of the table next to a beautiful brunette, wearing a tortured expression as she tried to engage him in conversation. But it was Merlin who came rushing over, pulling him back out into the corridor.

"What happened?" he demanded before Gwaine even had a chance to catch his breath. "We've only had one messenger, and that wasn't until this afternoon! Arthur is devastated, he's furious, he…"

"He should be," Gwaine said soberly. "Knowing he put his faith in a coldhearted murderer?"

"I know. I just don't understand how Lancelot could have killed…"

"Lancelot?! Merlin, what are you talking about?"

"He was… it said… Agravaine, and then Lancelot…"

"Just get it for me!" Gwaine snapped, then immediately regretted it. "Please," he said a little more gently.

A few minutes later, the missive was in his hands.

**Addressed to Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot:**

_Sire, I hope this finds you well.  
Unfortunately, it falls upon my shoulders to deliver some distressing news. If you will indulge me in this matter, please allow me to explain the strange set of circumstances that led up to such a catastrophe – rumors have a way of spreading in this kingdom, loyalties are always under question, and I would not want you to be ill-informed of these events or to misunderstand the actions of those who are no longer alive to defend themselves._

_On the day you left, sire, I was summoned before Lord Agravaine, who proceeded to inform me that he'd be passing sentence on the traitors in your stead. It was his belief that you'd prefer banishment over the far more brutal punishment of execution. I was the only one who watched as he signed the decree, as he thought it would be in your best interests for him to handle these matters discreetly. His plan was for the prisoners to be quietly escorted out of the city that night, placing me in charge to ensure that my sister in particular was treated with compassion and dignity._

_It seemed as if all would go smoothly, until I arrived at Lancelot's cell. I read off the sentence, and sire… he attacked me. He snatched a sword from one of the guards and slew three of them, also inflicting several superficial wounds to my own person before we were able to restrain him. He was out of control, threatening the life of Lord Agravaine, whom he holds personally responsible for the exposure of his treacherous affair with Guinevere._

_He even blamed you for the humiliation he'd suffered, threatening to return and have his vengeance someday. We were all astounded, being as he's always seemed so mild-mannered, so honorable and full of respect. But I suppose the crime for which he was imprisoned in the first place makes it clear that none of us were fully aware of his true nature._

_Under the circumstances, being solemnly sworn to protect the life of our king, we felt we had no other choice. With a heavy heart, Lord Agravaine signed the order to have him executed the following morning._

_I am still not certain how it happened, but Lancelot disappeared from his cell soon thereafter and despite our best efforts, he was nowhere to be found._

_When he escaped our clutches, Lord Agravaine had the idea to stage a fake execution, assuming that if Lancelot believed Guinevere's life to be in danger, he'd emerge from hiding in an attempt to rescue her. We kept her under constant guard until the appointed hour, intending to stage the scene and then set her free as soon as he'd been recaptured._

_Sire, I believe Lancelot had some sort of enchantment at his disposal, as myself and the guards didn't even have the strength to lift our weapons by the time he came flying into the courtyard, waving his sword around like a madman. He slew six of them and wounded me in the leg in his murderous progress, sheer brutality considering that we were already helpless to stand in his way. The last was Lord Agravaine – Lancelot beat him bloody before releasing Guinevere and making leave of the city._

_I fear I have not told you the worst, however. Lancelot shouted out a final threat, claiming that he'd return in all due haste to give Lord Agravaine the justice he deserved. Sire, we did the best we could to shore up the defenses, but he managed to slip back into the city later that night, which at least three witnesses can attest to._

_I'll never forget it for as long as I live, Arthur, your uncle screaming in agony as we tried to save him to no avail. I was crawling across the floor by the end of it all, my own injury preventing me from reaching him before it was too late. Fire was the weapon of choice; despite all our best efforts to extinguish it, he was unrecognizable by the time the flames were out._

_I'm so sorry, Arthur. Your uncle is dead._

_I await either detailed instructions or your return before proceeding with the funeral arrangements, out of respect for the deep love you held in your heart for our cherished Lord Agravaine. Meanwhile, I stand in place as your regent… not out of any presumption on my part, simply because there is no one else._

_In closing, I must tell you that while I have taken the liberty of sending out as many search parties as I have at my disposal, as of yet, there has been no sign of the murderer._

_Yours in faith,_   
**Sir Elyan, loyal Knight of Camelot**

" _Horseshit!_ " Gwaine sputtered, so loudly that the low hum of conversation inside the hall came to an abrupt standstill. "Tell me you don't believe this, Merlin," he hissed, making an effort to lower his voice "This is absurd!"

"I don't want to, but…"

"But nothing! This is a bunch of lies! I was there, and…"

He trailed off as Arthur stepped out into the corridor.

"Gwaine, what are you doing here? I thought you were injured – Gaius said you weren't supposed to leave your bed for a week."

"I've come to tell you…"

Arthur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I know," he said quietly, the words dull and lifeless. "I received the message this afternoon. We will be setting out for Camelot first thing in the morning."

"I have the message right here," Gwaine said, holding up the roll of parchment. "None of this is true. None of it!"

"What do you mean? Because Elyan said…"

" _Elyan is a damn liar!_ "

"Gwaine…"

"No, listen to me, Arthur. Agravaine defied your wishes. He ordered both of them to be executed, knowing full well…"

"I know, and I understand his reasoning. There was no choice. Lancelot…"

Gwaine swore under his breath. "Never happened. That was Agravaine's first order of business, as soon as you'd crossed over the border. There was no escape attempt, no forcing his hand. He _wanted_ them dead."

Arthur gave him a long, measuring look. "How do you know that? Weren't you supposed to be in bed in the physician's chamber, being treated for cracked ribs?"

"Look, I was never injured, all right? I stayed behind to make sure Lancelot and Gwen were treated fairly, and it's a good thing I did, because…"

"So you lied," Arthur said flatly.

"Yes, but with good reason! I knew he'd try something like this, I _knew_ …"

"I don't know what cause you'd have to suspect my uncle, but he is… _was_ an honorable man. He would've never…"

"Damn it, Arthur, _open your eyes!_ That… manipulative bastard has been playing you for a fool all along! He planned this, all of it! What happened on the morning of your wedding…"

" _Enough!_ " Arthur roared, taking a sudden step toward him before swallowing hard to regain his composure. When he spoke again, his voice was low and dangerous. "To suggest… to _accuse_ … don't even try to tell me that Agravaine or anyone else is responsible for what they did to me. I _saw_ them, Gwaine. I'll never forget it for as long as I live. If you're trying to tell me that anyone _forced_ them into that situation…"

"That's not what I meant, I'm just saying that…"

"No, I've heard enough. I'm going to chalk this conversation up to a misunderstanding, no doubt a result of loyalties that are confused at the moment. That's only to be expected, I… we've all had our worlds turned upside down. But I will speak of this no more. Come on, Merlin. I'm ready for bed."

And without another word, he turned and walked away.

* * *

"No, Lancelot. Put me down."

"But your feet…"

"I'm fine," Gwen insisted, giving him a carefree smile. "Really, they don't even hurt anymore."

"I'm not sure I believe you."

"Well, I'm not having you carry me into this place like some sickly child. Now put me down – it's cold out here and I'm starving."

He sighed in exasperation but did as she asked, giving her a gentle kiss before setting her on her feet. Trying not to wince, she took his hand, glancing up at the freshly painted sign above their heads with a frown.

"The Sleeping Goat?"

"Yes."

"I suppose it doesn't matter what it's called; I'll just be happy to sleep in a warm bed tonight."

Leaning down to whisper in her ear, he said, "Me too… especially if you're in it."

She blushed, ducking her head as he pushed the door open.

It was better than she'd expected, a spacious room with whitewashed walls, tables that were freshly polished, and the pleasant smell of wood smoke in the air. Nothing fancy by any means, but the place was obviously well cared for and the customers appeared to be people of decent quality, not the rough looking clientele that might have been expected.

Trust Lancelot to have brought her to what was probably the most civilized tavern in… well, whatever kingdom this was. It was a little disconcerting to realize she didn't know.

"Well, I'll be damned!" bellowed a heavyset woman as she hurried across the room, staring at Lancelot as if she'd just seen a ghost. "Every time I start to think I'll never see your ugly face again, you pop up from out of nowhere! And what's this?" She plucked at his soiled red cloak. "A Knight of Camelot? How in the hell…?"

"Not anymore," Lancelot said quietly. "It's a long story."

She swatted him on the arm. "Now you know I've never been the type to ask questions. Mind my own business, I do. Wait, who's this? Aren't you a pretty thing? What's someone like you doing with this miserable sack of bones?" 

As Gwen watched in shock, the barmaid whacked Lancelot on the chest with one of her meaty fists; he let out a grunt, then recovered, grinning at her as if she'd just paid him the world's biggest compliment.

"I… uh…"

"This is Guinevere," Lancelot said, wrapping an arm around her waist and drawing her a little closer.

Having finally recovered her wits enough to speak, she added, "Most people just call me Gwen."

The older woman tucked a wisp of faded blonde hair into her messy braid. "Most call me Nessie… well, a few other things, too, but those aren't worth repeating."

Gwen smiled at her, feeling completely at ease. "It's very nice to meet you, Nessie."

"Such fine manners! No wonder this one likes you!" She gave Lancelot another hard thump, this time to his midsection.

"Oof! I… might we have something to eat, please?" Lancelot asked her, exceedingly polite considering he was speaking to someone who'd just hit him in the stomach. But Gwen had the feeling this was nothing new for them, and that strangely enough, he rather enjoyed it.

Nessie muttered to herself, shaking her head in exasperation. "Speaking of manners, mine seem to be nonexistent this morning. Just so surprised to see you that I forgot myself for a moment. Go find a table, I'll be right back."

A few minutes later, they were seated beside a sunny window, each with a steaming plate piled high with bacon, eggs, several thick slices of bread and honey butter, along with several hunks of soft cheese. Naturally, Gwen had assumed they'd eat alone, but then Nessie came back, sliding two mugs of ale across the table before dropping into one of the empty chairs.

"Fallen on hard times again?" she asked, arching an eyebrow at Lancelot.

"No, I… we're all right. Just looking for a place to stay for a few days, that's all."

Nessie snorted. "A leisurely holiday, is that what you're trying to tell me? Meanwhile, you're both filthy, you've got no baggage aside from that sack you carried in here, and she doesn't even have any shoes. Looks to me like you had to run from someplace in a hurry. Do you even have a change of clothes?"

"No," Gwen said softly.

"Just as I thought. Maybe you can also tell me why you were limping when you came in. You hurt?"

Not knowing what compelled her to do it, Gwen pushed her chair back from the table and lifted her skirt, showing the older woman the angry red streaks that still covered her lower legs. "There are blisters on the bottom of my feet, too."

Nessie let out a sharp gasp. "Who in the hell did that to you? And _you_ …" Her eyes shifted to Lancelot. "I hope you killed them, whoever they were."

"I was nearly burned at the stake. I…"

"I didn't have time to kill him," Lancelot interrupted in a flat voice.

"Right," Nessie said, looking perturbed for a moment before resuming that same no-nonsense attitude Gwen found so comforting. "I'm going to be taking this girl home with me, see if I can get her into a bath and find some clean clothes that will fit her… some sort of ointment for those nasty burns, too. And you, Lancelot, will be going upstairs to get yourself cleaned up. I'll see if I can find you something to wear and a razor to scrape those whiskers off. Ugly enough as it is without a bunch of fur all over your face."

"I… ah… thank you," Gwen said, wondering if she sounded as bewildered as she felt. "That's… very kind of you."

Nessie looked oddly self-conscious all of a sudden. "Nothing kind about it. Just don't want the two of you scaring away my customers. Look like you've been to hell and back, and that's an understatement."

* * *

Nessie wasn't lying; Gwen gasped when she had a look at herself in the mirror that was nailed to the wall in the woman's small, yet tidy home. She'd lost weight, her hair was a tangled mess, and she was filthy. Her demure pink dress, the one she'd been forced to wear since the morning she and Lancelot had been dragged off to the dungeon was almost gray now, torn in several places and scorched at the bottom. It certainly wasn't salvageable, and her underclothes were practically in tatters.

"I look frightful," she said aloud.

"No denying that," Nessie agreed as she bustled back into the room with her arms full of folded clothes that she deposited in a nearby chair. "Stopped back by and dropped off a few things for that man of yours – let's see what we can do about you now."

The bath was heavenly – a warm, soothing tub of water that smelled strongly of apples. Gwen scrubbed herself from head to toe and then lingered for a soak, too relaxed to be bothered over modesty when Nessie came back in and perched on a chair beside her, talking about this and that for a while until the subject came back around to Lancelot.

"How do you know him?" Gwen asked her curiously, offering no protest when the older woman picked up a comb and began working the knots out of her hair. It felt good to be taken care of… almost how she imagined things would've been if her mother had lived.

"Must have been about seven or eight years ago first time I met him," Nessie said, tending to her with surprisingly gentle fingers. "Worst I've ever seen him, those big, hollow eyes staring back at me like he had nothing left in the world. Looked like he hadn't eaten in weeks."

"That couldn't have been long after he left Camelot for the first time."

"Well, I don't know about that. Never been the type to ask questions. But he was in rough shape, out on his own with no idea how to take care of himself."

Gwen tried not to wince as the comb caught a particularly nasty snarl. "And you helped him?"

Nessie sniffed. "Just did what was necessary to get him out of my hair. Kind of like one of these tangles here - won't go away until you yank on it a bit. Anyway, he's been back several times over the years. Learned to tolerate him well enough."

"You care about him. I can tell he cares about you, too."

"You're going to freeze your tits off if you don't get out of that water soon," Nessie said abruptly, her cheeks turning pink. "Let's see if we can find some clothes that will fit you."

"All right," Gwen said, ducking her head to hide a smile.

* * *

Two hours later, clean, dressed, and bandaged, she was on her way back to the inn. Her curls hung in a shining cascade down her back, and her dress… well… she crossed her arms self-consciously as she entered the large room that was swiftly filling with customers, trying to reach the stairs as quickly as possible.

"One of Millie's castoffs," Nessie had said as she'd held up the silky, rose colored gown. "Gave it to me because it was too big up top, though I have no idea where she thought I'd find the waistline to fit into the damn thing even if I'd wanted to wear it. Might work for you though."

The dress clung to Gwen's body like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination with the way it highlighted her curves. It wasn't so bad on the bottom, but the bodice made her feel practically naked, dipping low into the valley between her breasts, which she was sure would spill right out of it at any moment.

She hurried up the stairs, then knocked on the door at the end of the hall, the one she'd been told was to be their room. And there was Lancelot – freshly shaved with his hair still damp from his own bath, dressed in nothing but a pair of loose trousers. She dropped her arms without realizing she'd done so and then his eyes were scorching a path down her body, so intense that she could do nothing but stand there helpless until he reached out and pulled her inside, closing the door behind them with a resounding thud.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed with her straddling his lap, bodice pushed down and skirt hiked up around her waist, when the door flew open again. Gasping, she broke their rather impassioned kiss, looking up through hazy eyes as a woman with a shock of bright red hair came barreling into the room.


	107. Ghosts of the Past

#  **Chapter 107: Ghosts of the Past**

* * *

Gwaine had hoped there'd be something left to prove Lancelot's innocence. All he needed was some minor detail, one tiny oversight to latch onto. But there was nothing – from their first encounter with Elyan, leg bandaged and propped up in a nearby chair as he'd sat in the Council Chamber playing regent, things had gone from bad to worse.

"If this is true, then show us the injury," he'd demanded. But despite Arthur's protests and much to his own surprise, Elyan had immediately agreed, unwinding the linen strips to reveal a nasty looking gash in his thigh.

"Forgive me, sire," he'd said after a moment, his voice tight and laced with pain. "Might we summon the Court Physician? It's still quite uncomfortable, and I'll be needing a fresh bandage."

"Of course," Arthur had said gently, shooting Gwaine a furious look. "I'll do so immediately."

Gaius had been his next option, but there was little to work with in the information he provided. Yes, he'd heard Lord Agravaine pass the execution sentence, but no, he'd not personally witnessed what had occurred either prior to that or afterwards. He'd been shut away in his quarters the entire time, where he'd worked himself to exhaustion tending to the bodies of the guards who'd lost their lives the following day. No, he couldn't say who'd killed them, but yes, they'd died by the sword… the same weapon that had been responsible for Elyan's wound.

Following that, Elyan himself had called for the witnesses, who'd each spun a lurid tale about having seen the traitor sneak back into the city. One, a servant in the palace, had even claimed she'd seen Lancelot go into Lord Agravaine's chamber with a brightly flaming torch in his hand.

And that was when Gwaine, too enraged to stop and think about what he was saying, made a fatal mistake.

"That's not even possible! He was halfway to the border of Essetir by then! There's no way he could've returned in time to…"

"How do you know that?" Arthur asked him quietly.

"I…"

"You helped him escape."

 _Well, might as well own up to it now_ , he thought, letting out a resigned sigh. "Yes, I did. I also helped him the night before, which is how I know that no guards were killed. He sure as hell didn't threaten anyone either. Arthur, _I was there_. The sentence had already been passed – _execution_ , not banishment. I saw how he was! Sad. Frightened. Full of regret. For anyone to make him out to be some vengeful…"

Arthur cut him off. "So not only did you lie to me, you knowingly betrayed me. Gwaine, your actions led to the deaths of…"

"Damn it! _No!_ Do you have any idea what Agravaine was planning to do to them? He's set this up to make Lancelot take the fall, but you don't know how twisted…"

"I hardly see where my uncle could've come up with much of anything, seeing as he's dead."

Gwaine sputtered, searching for a different argument. "That… that has to be part of it! He made it appear as if…"

"I saw his body, Gwaine."

"Yes, but didn't Elyan himself say Agravaine was burned beyond recognition? Can you be certain it was even him you were looking at?"

"Elyan," Arthur said in a flat voice. "You see? All the proof I need is sitting right here in front of me. Even if I was willing to question everything else, you cannot make me believe that Guinevere's own brother would've stood by and done nothing if her life had been at risk. Under the circumstances, Elyan is by far the most credible witness we have, and everything he's said has proven true."

"Elyan…" Gwaine struggled with that point, since it was one that didn't make sense to him either. "I don't know, Arthur, but they don't exactly have the best relationship. They bicker all the time, and he's been furious with her ever since she… the morning of your wedding. Some of the things he's said about her…"

" _He has every right to be angry!_ " Arthur snapped. "What she did…"

"May I speak, sire?"

"Of course, Elyan," the king said much more kindly. "Please."

Elyan shifted in his chair, grimacing as he adjusted the position of his injured leg. "It's true that I haven't been happy with my sister as of late. Her shameless, selfish, deceitful behavior is a stain on my family's honor, and I cannot forgive her for the pain she has inflicted on our king. But to suggest I'd want her _dead_ , regardless of what she's done… she's all the family I have left in this world, Gwaine. And despite everything, part of me will always love her. Always."

It would've been futile to argue the point – Arthur's sympathetic expression told Gwaine all he needed to know.

"I feel the same, Elyan. But there's no need for you to take her shame upon yourself. You are a victim, just as I am. Guinevere betrayed us both."

Gwaine was already expecting the shackles that closed around his wrists, offering no protest when he was led down to the dungeon and locked in the same cell where Lancelot had been incarcerated a few nights before. Arthur wouldn't execute him – he knew that much. But banishment was another matter, and as much as he hated to admit it considering how furious he was, the thought of leaving Camelot left him cold. Stubborn ass of a king and all, this was his home now.

"Gwaine?"

"Does Arthur know you're down here? Wouldn't want your loyalty to come under question – might end up sleeping in the cell next door."

Merlin gave him a lopsided grin. "Wouldn't be the first time. I always bounce back. Anyway, I don't think Arthur cares what I'm doing right now – he's shut himself up with Agravaine. Plans to spend the night in mourning before the funeral tomorrow."

"That's not Agravaine."

"I know."

"You do?"

Letting out a heavy sigh, Merlin sat down on the other side of the bars. "His ring."

Gwaine frowned. "What?"

"Agravaine always wore a signet ring on his left hand. Well, when I saw the body, it was on the wrong finger."

"Did you tell Arthur?"

He shook his head. "No point to it. You know that wouldn't be enough."

"Probably right about that."

"Besides, Elyan is acting strange – not like himself at all. Gaius told me he actually _cheered_ when Agravaine ordered Gwen's execution. Why would he do that? I mean, I know he's been mad at her about Lancelot. I have, too. But Elyan would never be that cruel, even if the sentence wasn't real."

"It _was_ real, Merlin."

"Gaius told me that as well – he said there couldn't have been enough time for even half of the things that supposedly happened before that."

"Why didn't he say anything to Arthur?"

"Same reason as me. Realized it wouldn't make a difference."

"Neither of you have much faith in him. Well, I guess I can't blame you for that. Not anymore."

"I _do_ have faith in Arthur!" Merlin said defensively. "He's obviously been manipulated, when he was vulnerable and brokenhearted to begin with. He's just not ready…"

Gwaine shot him an ironic smile. "Good thing you're here to pick up where Gwen left off."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing, don't worry about it."

Merlin glanced around to make sure there weren't any guards within hearing distance, then turned back to him. "Can you tell me what really happened? At first, I almost believed Lancelot had done those terrible things. I should've known better."

"Yes," Gwaine agreed, "you should have."

"Hey, I've already been dealing with the fact that he isn't exactly the person I thought he was. After everything he's done…"

"There's a world of difference between being in love and murdering people in cold blood."

"All right," Merlin conceded. "But I still don't forgive him for what he _did_ do… with Gwen, I mean."

Gwaine gave him a searching look. "Which part of it, exactly?"

" _All of it!_ He should've never…"

"Fallen in love with her in the first place? Don't think there was much he could've done about that. No getting rid of it after it happens either – rather like a fatal disease in that way."

"Fine, but he should've never told her he still had feelings for her when he knew she was with Arthur. He should've kept it to himself, or…"

Gwaine shook his head. "Still don't get it, do you?"

"She would've been happy with Arthur! Lancelot was the one who got in the way. Before he came back…"

"Before he came back, she'd settled for second choice, thinking her first was no longer an option. Fair enough, but that doesn't guarantee a lifetime of wedded bliss. Especially when so much of their relationship was built on lies."

Merlin frowned at him. "What lies?"

"Lancelot's. Hers. Yours."

"Hey, I didn't do anything to…"

"You're telling me that you've never done anything to keep her away from Lancelot while pushing her in Arthur's direction? All right, Merlin."

"Whatever I did, it was because she _belonged_ with Arthur. I knew that all along, I…"

"Hate to tell you, friend, but the real tragedy in all of this has nothing to do with who Gwen might've chosen or whose heart was broken. It's that everyone around here thinks they have a right to control other people's lives. Can't let anyone make their own decisions."

"It's not that simple."

"Never is when you're trying to make excuses for yourself."

Merlin scowled at him. "Maybe I should go."

"Thought you wanted to know what really happened. Sit back down, and I'll tell you."

* * *

"That makes a lot more sense," Merlin said thoughtfully. "I've never trusted Agravaine, you know."

"That doesn't surprise me."

"Arthur needs to know about this. If he's willing to go this far, he's obviously a threat to the kingdom. I was just sort of keeping an eye on him before, but now…"

"Well, isn't that why I'm down here? Because I tried to warn him?"

"Yeah, you're right. But I don't want to stand by and do nothing either – I did that with Morgana and we see what happened with her."

Gwaine raised an eyebrow at him. "No trouble there from what I can see. Might be a little moody sometimes... likes to play with fire a bit more than I'm comfortable with. But other than that, she's pleasant enough."

"Gwaine!"

"Not funny? Sorry. Okay, let's be serious about this. We obviously don't have enough evidence yet, and the only other people with much to say on the subject aren't even in the kingdom right now. Also doesn't help that Arthur would rather chew off his foot than speak to either of them."

"So I guess we need to find more evidence some other way."

"You're right about that."

Merlin frowned. "But how? And what, exactly? Whoever is behind this, they obviously know what they're doing. Practically anything could be talked around or denied."

"Except one thing."

"What?"

"If we found Agravaine. Alive."

"True," Merlin said slowly. "But he has to be well hidden, especially if he thinks Arthur has search parties scouring the countryside for any sign of Lancelot."

Gwaine nodded. "But one man might have a better chance of finding him, especially if that man isn't parading around in a bright red cloak."

"Are you suggesting…?"

"Myself? Absolutely. Aside from the fact that I still give a damn about what happens to this kingdom, I really don't want to see a good friend forced to live as an outlaw for the rest of his days. Besides, I sort of have my own stake in this."

"What's that?" Merlin asked him curiously.

"Well, I'd like my job back. Don't want to lose my warm, cozy bed, and of course, unlimited access to the palace kitchens is nothing to sneeze at. Rather grown attached to those things, to tell you the truth."

Merlin grinned at him. "You told me once that you didn't need stuff like that."

"I don't. But would I rather be happy sucking down cheap ale that tastes like piss, or enjoying the finest brew the kingdom has to offer? I think the choice is clear."

"Fair enough."

"So can you get me out of here?"

Merlin smirked as he rose to his feet. "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

Unperturbed by the sight of a half naked Gwen straddling Lancelot's lap, the redheaded woman plopped down on the bed, grinning at them both.

"I… ah… pardon me," Gwen mumbled, hastily rising to her feet as she struggled to shove her exposed breasts back into the tight bodice. It wasn't going so well, especially with a stranger's eyes scrutinizing her every movement.

"You know, if I had tits like those, the last thing I'd do is try to hide them."

"Don't you know how to knock?" Lancelot muttered, his voice full of annoyance.

"Of course I do," she responded with a shrug; Gwen stared at her in shock as she realized the woman's eyes were now fixed on the obvious bulge in Lancelot's trousers. "But when you knock, you miss all the good stuff."

"Excuse me," she said firmly, picking up a pillow and dropping it in Lancelot's lap. She sat back down on his other side, taking his arm in a possessive gesture. "Who are you?"

"Oh, ah… this is Millie," Lancelot interjected before their unwelcome visitor could speak. "She's a barmaid here."

"Also an old friend. Nice to meet you…?"

"Gwen."

"Gwen?" Millie frowned for a minute, and then her gray eyes went wide. "Oh. Ohhh! I know who you are! He told me… years ago, Lancelot, you said…"

He cleared his throat, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"Well, good to see you finally got around to following my advice. Anyway, I'll let the two of you get back to what you were doing. Have a nice fuck and then come downstairs, yeah? We've a lot of catching up to do... especially since _some people_ ," she paused to glare at Lancelot, "still haven't figured out how to write a letter."

Gwen watched in shock as Millie swished out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

"That was…"

"I know, I'm sorry," he said softly, "She's a bit…"

"Rude? Disrespectful? Presumptuous?"

"I was going to say she's a bit of a handful."

Gwen sniffed. "Well, that's a nice way of putting it."

He slid an arm around her shoulders. "She has rough manners, but she's also had a hard life. Honestly, it's amazing she's turned out as well as she has."

"What do you mean? You seem to know a lot about her."

"We lived in the same fortress for what must've been about a year. A place called Greytower." He had a hard, almost haunted look in his eyes when he said the name.

"When?"

"Not long after I left Camelot for the first time."

She frowned, realizing how little she actually knew about what he'd done during their years of separation. "Did you work there as a mercenary fighter?"

Sighing heavily, he avoided her eyes. "That's where it started, yes."

"Lancelot, if you'd rather not talk about this…"

"No, you have a right to know. More than anyone." He paused, sucking in a deep breath. "I was captured. The man who owned the fortress he… well, he compelled me into service there. That's when I met Millie, though she was quite different than the woman you met. She was a skinny, frightened girl dressed all in rags, and she…"

"What? Tell me."

"It's a bit shocking."

She rolled her eyes. "So was having her offer an opinion on my breasts before I even knew her name. Please, continue."

"Well, it's difficult to blame her for that," Lancelot said, his voice suddenly husky as he traced a single finger over the swells that rose above her low neckline. "They _are_ quite…"

"Oh, stop it." She swatted his hand away. "You were saying?"

His face became serious again. "I, ah… she was being forced to service men in her bed. For money. It had been going on for years."

Gwen raised her hand to her mouth. "Good lord…" she breathed, borrowing his expression without realizing she had done so. "How many?"

"More than you want to know."

"And the man who made her do this?"

He closed his eyes for a moment. "He was her father."

All she could do was stare at him in shock. "But… but you helped her, right? I mean, that's why she's here. You helped her escape from that awful place."

"Yes, but it wasn't as simple as that. I…" But then he stopped, clearly having reached his limit. She couldn't blame him – being forced to live with a man who was capable of that much depravity spoke for itself. It was disturbing to imagine the things he must've seen.

"I just hope she's safe now. Is there any chance he might find her again?"

"No."

"How can you be sure?"

His voice was flat and hard when he said, "Because I killed him."

They sat in silence for a while, until she said, "You're a good man, Lancelot. She was lucky to have you. And so am I."

The strangest expression came over his face, one she was certain she hadn't seen since the night he'd peered at her through the grate in Hengist's fortress. Shame… guilt… self-loathing. But in a flash, it was gone; he dipped his head to kiss her, then asked, "Are you ready to eat?"

Part of her wanted to ask why he'd looked like that, even for a second, but she let it go. Perhaps some ghosts were better left in the past, buried and eventually forgotten.


	108. Taking Control

#  **Chapter 108: Taking Control**

* * *

"Don't mind me!" a cheerful voice called out. "Just dropping off a letter!"

Gwen sat up in bed, clutching the blankets to her bare chest as she blinked groggily at the woman's retreating back. Nessie glanced over her shoulder and winked, then closed the door behind her with a soft click.

"Is a little privacy too much to ask for?" Gwen grumbled, offering no protest when Lancelot pulled her back into his sleepy embrace. "I thought I locked the door last night."

"You did," he mumbled against her neck.

"Then how…? Oh, nevermind."

"I'll put bars on the door. Big, heavy ones."

She frowned, trying to ignore the fingers that were ghosting along the curve of her hip beneath the blankets. "I don't think Nessie would like that."

"I meant when we have our own place to live."

"Mmmm…" she breathed, momentarily distracted as he caressed her backside with a warm, callused hand. "It's a nice thought, but we don't have any money."

"Yes, we do."

"What? Ohh… Lancelot, stop! I can't think when you're doing that."

He lifted his head, smiling up at her lazily. "I have gold. Not enough to buy a palace, but I can at least provide a decent home for you."

"What? How?"

"Just a minute," he said, treating her to an appealing flash of his own naked rear as he slid out of bed and crossed the room, rummaging in the sack Gwaine had given them. When he settled himself beside her again, he was holding a leather pouch, pulling on the drawstring and then opening it for her inspection.

She gasped, reaching out to touch the heavy gold coins to make sure they were real. "How… where did you get all this?"

"I was paid very well for my service," he explained. "And since all my necessities were also taken care of, there was little need to spend what I earned."

"Must be nice to be a knight," she said absently, thinking of her own far more modest wages and how quickly they'd disappeared when it came time to replenish supplies. "Oh, Lancelot, I'm sorry! I didn't mean…"

A shadow crossed his handsome features, but was gone as quickly as it had appeared. "It's all right," he reassured her, sliding back between the blankets. "It was a worthy trade."

"I wish you could've have both."

He kissed her gently, and then pulled back to gaze into her eyes. "Losing one was a disappointment. I cannot deny that. But losing the other would've been unbearable."

It was hard to argue with that, especially since she felt the same way about her own choice between him and Camelot. Meanwhile, he was swiftly becoming amorous again, making her shiver as he pressed his lips to the sensitive spot just below her ear. "What will we do now?" she asked him a little breathlessly.

"Now? I'm going to kiss you here, and then here…" he murmured in a soft, sensuous voice. "Then I think I'll move down here…" She sucked in a sharp breath as he pulled the blanket down, exposing her breasts to the chilly morning air before he dipped his head to draw a nipple into his mouth.

"No, I mean…" But then she couldn't quite remember what it was she'd wanted to know. "What else will you do?"

He lifted his head, giving her a wicked smile before switching his attention to her other breast. "I thought I'd linger here for a little longer," he said with a tone of mock thoughtfulness. "But maybe…"

He took her other nipple between his lips, making her gasp before he finally released it. And then his hand slid past her stomach, nudging her thighs apart. "Yes," he murmured, lifting his head to capture her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss before he continued. "I think I might…"

"Ohhh…" Her eyes fell closed as his fingers slid inside her, penetrating and withdrawing ever so slowly as his tongue caressed hers in perfect time with the leisurely rhythm he was setting below. Growing impatient, she rocked against his hand, forcing a more urgent kiss as she moaned low in her throat, part pleasure, part frustration.

"Yes, this is what we'll do," he whispered, pulling his mouth away to trace the delicate contours of her ear with the tip of his tongue. "Unless, of course, you have a better idea."

"More," she gasped out, raising her hips insistently.

She felt him smile against her neck, doing nothing to increase either the speed or friction. "More what?" he asked her innocently.

Oh, he was being evil this morning, but she had no intention of letting him get away with it. Pressing her hand flat against his chest, she pushed hard until he was the one lying flat on his back, his expression both surprised and intrigued. It was little wonder – aside from some light groping on her part every now and again, he was the one who always took charge, never allowing much stimulation for himself until he was actually inside her.

Well, that was about to change.

Giving him her own version of a devious smile, she started with his neck, working her way up with firm, sucking kisses until she reached his ear. "Mmmm..." she hummed, mimicking the soft gusts of breath and gentle teases that were so pleasurable for her. Would it be the same for him?

Oh, yes; she turned her head to see that his eyes were closed, his breathing coming a little more unsteady as his hands moved restlessly up and down her back. Smiling to herself, she moved lower, running her fingers through the fine hair on his chest as she brought her mouth to one flat nipple and then the other, licking and sucking until he let out a soft groan.

Picking back up on their earlier game, she said, "I think I'll…" trailing off as her lips moved across his stomach, dipping her tongue into his navel before she hesitated and sank back on her heels. "Hmmm..."

Lancelot opened his eyes, heavy lidded and smoldering with desire when he noticed the direction of her gaze. "Gwen, you don't have to…"

But she ignored his weak protests, kneeling between his legs and kissing the insides of his thighs as she wrapped her fingers around the base of his erection. She felt him shiver as her mouth closed around him, her tentative licks drawing a long, low groan from the back of his throat. Gaining confidence, she took him deeper and then increased the friction, her lips sliding up and down on his hard length as she settled into a comfortable rhythm.

"Gwen," he rasped, then cursed under his breath as he began thrusting gently into her mouth. His hands slid into her hair and that was when she looked up at him, holding his eyes as she increased the speed, the depth, the intensity, just the way he liked to do when he was inside her. This was obviously no different – before long, he was groaning almost constantly, muscles tensing in a desperate need for release as his head fell back against the pillows.

"I can't…" he said, his voice hoarse as his hands fisted in her hair. "I'm going to..."

Faintly, she recalled the reason she'd started this – her playful determination to turn the tables and make him beg for what he needed when she would not. But they were beyond that; the only thing she wanted to do now was bring him to completion, to ignore her own pleasure in favor of his as he so often did for her.

And so she disregarded his warning, knowing that even at this late stage, he was struggling to hold off long enough to be sure she was satisfied before he was willing to let himself finish. But not this time – every man had to have his limit, and she wasn't going to stop until…

"I…" he gasped, "Gwen..." 

And then he let out a ragged cry, pulsing in her mouth as his body went rigid, hands disentangling themselves from her hair to grab hard fistfuls of blanket. His legs were shaking, eyes tightly closed... his lips parted in one last, shuddering sigh before he finally relaxed, slumping against the pillows with a dazed expression on his face. 

Gwen swallowed hard, the unfamiliar yet not unpleasant taste of his release still on her tongue as she moved up to lay beside him. His chest was rapidly rising and falling, forehead slick with sweat that she gently wiped away. He opened his eyes to look at her then, still hazy and slightly unfocused, opening his mouth and then closing it a couple times before he finally managed to speak.

"You… I… you shouldn't have…"

She stared back at him with an expression of mock disappointment. "You didn't like it? Because it seemed as if…"

He let out a hoarse chuckle, reaching up to touch her face with trembling fingers. "No, I never said that. Good lord, I… you…"

"What?" she prompted, trying to hide her triumphant grin over the way he hardly seemed to be able to form a coherent sentence in the aftermath. Yes, she'd definitely have to pleasure him with her mouth a little more often.

"You should've let me… give me a few minutes to recover and I'll be happy to return the favor."

Rolling her eyes, she reached for the underclothes she'd discarded the night before. "You don't always have to be so self-sacrificing, you know."

"It's hardly a sacrifice to…"

She put her fingers to his mouth, then sat up to pull on her too tight chemise. Properly fitting clothes… that would be her first order of business now that there was more than enough gold to pay for such things. Decent clothing for herself and for Lancelot, too, who looked like a scarecrow in shirts and trousers that had obviously been made for a man who was carrying a few extra pounds on his frame.

That thought brought her back to her original question, the one Lancelot had no doubt deliberately misunderstood.

"What will we do now?" she asked him again, though this time, she made sure to clarify her meaning. "The money, a place to live… what were you thinking?"

He looked at her thoughtfully, accepting the cup of water she handed him with a murmured word of thanks before he responded. "Well, I couldn't be sure about the details until I talked to you, but it seems best we stay here for the winter if that is acceptable."

She nodded. "And when spring comes?"

"Find a place of our own. One that will make you happy."

"Where?"

He hesitated, taking another long drink of water. "I don't know. Where would you like to live?"

 _Camelot_ , a sad little voice in her mind whispered. Stubbornly, she pushed it away. "I'm not sure. It would be best if it was somewhere where we know someone, at least, so staying here might be our best option." And then she smiled. "That is, if you don't mind putting bars on the door."

He smiled back, wrapping his fingers around hers. "Do you know anyone elsewhere?"

"I know a few people who moved away from Cam… relocated over the years. But there's no one I really stay in touch with other than Merlin's mother. She lives in Ealdor."

"That's not far from here."

"Hmmm," she said, her voice soft and thoughtful. "Well, I suppose we have a few months to figure it out."

Lancelot nodded in agreement and then paused, looking oddly nervous as he sat up and gazed beyond her. "I… it makes no difference to me where we live or what I might be required to do to support us once the gold runs out. There's only one thing I truly want."

"What is it?"

He swallowed hard. "I want you to… that is, I wish to marry you."

All she could do was stare at him as she raised her hand to her mouth. It wasn't that it should've been unexpected; they were sitting there planning a life together, after all. But in some strange way, it finally made it _real_ … proving that all the obstacles that had once prevented them from being together were now behind them, and that it truly was her choice to stay with him forever if she wished to do so.

"Lancelot, I…"

"I know it's not the most romantic proposal," he hastily interrupted, his eyes searching the humble contents of their room as if there were some solution to be found there. "I can get down on my knees if you wish."

She tried not to smile, but it was a wasted effort. "You're still naked."

"I am… good lord, I'm making a complete mess of this. I just… I love you. More than anything in this world or beyond, and I don't ever want to be parted from you again. I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy, spend the rest of my life devoting myself to…"

"Lancelot?" she said softly.

"I'm sorry, I…"

"Ask me again."

Somehow, he ended up on his knees after all, gazing up at her with eyes full of hope and adoration as he whispered, "Marry me, Gwen. Please."

"Very well... if you insist."

"Yes?" he blinked hard, as if he wasn't sure what he'd just heard. "You will?"

"Hmm... come to think of it, I'm not so sure." But then she took pity on him, smiling gently and bending over to give him a soft, lingering kiss. "Yes, Lancelot, I'd be honored to be your wife."

"You… I…" He rose to his feet, wrapping his arms around her in a crushing embrace.

"Lancelot, I can't breathe."

"Oh, forgive me! I…"

She beamed up at him, no less overjoyed than he was, just determined to maintain her composure. "If you truly want to make your future wife happy, you can start by feeding her. I'm starving."

"What? Oh, yes, of course you are," he said, pulling on his trousers. "Let's go downstairs and get something to eat. I think it's still early enough for breakfast."

But just as they were leaving, he spotted the forgotten letter sitting on the small table just inside the door, his name scrawled across it in a bold, nondescript font. "Go on without me," he told her, taking her hand and kissing it gently. "I'll be down in a minute."

* * *

Lancelot sat down on the bed, breaking the seal and then unrolling the parchment. Only a single line was written there; he frowned in confusion for a moment before he remembered.

_What is my biggest secret?_

"Magic," he said softly, feeling the warmth spread through his fingers as the page filled with line after line of Merlin's painfully familiar handwriting.

_I still don't know how to feel about what you and Gwen did to Arthur, but you've always been a loyal friend to me. Despite everything, I owe you the same in return._

_I know what Agravaine was really planning, why he made sure Arthur was away when he did it, and that you barely escaped with your lives. I hope you know that no matter how angry I've been, I would've never wished for something like that to happen._

_Unfortunately, you're not out of danger. Whoever is behind this has come up with a plan to destroy you, though I don't know why. Elyan is at the front of it, and has told Arthur that you murdered numerous guards during your escape, also that you returned to the city later that night and slaughtered Agravaine in cold blood. Gwaine knew it wasn't true – he tried to plead your case with Arthur, but it didn't help. Too much evidence had been planted by the time we returned, even a body that Arthur still believes was Agravaine's._

_Lancelot, we're doing our best to prove your innocence, but it might take some time. Gwaine is currently out searching for the real Agravaine, though Arthur knows nothing of this. Meanwhile, I'm trying to figure out what's going on with Elyan. Yeah, he was furious with Gwen, but he's not capable of this kind of cruelty. Not the Elyan I know._

_It might be some sort of enchantment, but if it is, it's not like any I've ever seen. Honestly, I'm a little lost, but don't worry. I'm not giving up that easily._

_The good news is that even though the official order is to arrest you on sight, Arthur hasn't made much of an effort to send anyone out looking for you. I think that deep down, he knows you'd never do the things you're being accused of. It's just that he's angry right now, heartbroken and betrayed, and it's difficult to see beyond that. But despite everything, I don't believe he wants to see you dead._

_Lay low, Lancelot. If you're careful, I think you can stay out of danger long enough for this to be resolved. Stay where you are if you can and if that's no longer possible, go to Ealdor. It's remote enough that no one would think to look for you there, and my mother will help you and Gwen if you need it._

_I'll write again if I can, but don't respond unless I tell you it's safe. I was lucky enough to intercept the message you sent to Gwaine, but it's too risky to send any more._

_Best of luck to you, Lancelot. I hope you and Gwen are… well, just be safe, okay?_

Lancelot lit a small fire and then watched the parchment burn, sighing heavily as he did so. This should've been one of the happiest days of his life, the chance to look to a brighter future after so much pain and uncertainty. But now… believed to be a murderer for crimes he'd never committed? A wanted man, forced all over again to live with the constant fear of discovery and the penalties to follow? 

He was tired… so tired. Tired of trying to be brave and honorable, tired of running and hiding, tired of having everything he wanted right at his fingertips, only for it to be snatched away without warning.

Yet the most important thing of all belonged to him now, and she was worth everything he'd gone through to have her and more. Did the rest of it even matter? 

He'd once come to the realization that the greatest obstacle in his life was the need to maintain control over everything he possibly could. Well, it was time to let that go. There was only hope now – hope that Merlin and Gwaine could manage to prove his innocence before it was too late. 

If not, there was the consolation that even though his days might be numbered, he'd be lucky enough to spend them all with Gwen. Yes, he had every intention of marrying her as planned, then building the life he desperately wanted to share with her. There was no way of knowing how long it could last, of course, but in the end, wasn't that true either way?

By the time he headed downstairs, he was smiling, determined not to let anything spoil his newfound chance at happiness.

"What did the letter say?" Gwen asked him. "Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine," he reassured her, kissing the top of her head before sitting down in front of a hot breakfast. "Just a short message from Merlin to check up on us. It's a slow start, but I think he's coming around."

Whatever guilt he felt over witholding the truth was immediately chased away by the brilliant smile he received in response.


	109. A Matter of Choice

#  **Chapter 109: A Matter of Choice**

* * *

"Don't mind me!" Nessie announced, breezing into the room carrying a large armful of clothing. "Tailor dropped these off this morning. Think that's the rest of them, unless the two of you are planning on outfitting the entire village."

Gwen mumbled her thanks, turning away on her side to escape the light that was streaming in from the open door.

Well, at least she was dressed, which made her feel a little less awkward than she had the last time this had happened. Her courses had finally arrived the night before, an occasion that had been met with a great deal of relief, followed by an uncomfortable conversation with Lancelot when he'd started tugging on the laces of her nightgown. Not that he'd been bothered in the least; she'd been horrified to realize he probably would've went ahead with it anyway if she'd consented. Instead, she'd pleasured him with her mouth again, sending him off to sleep with a satisfied smile on his lips.

It was silly to be embarrassed over something so natural, really, but she obviously had a lot to learn about living with a man when it came to intimate matters.

Speaking of embarrassment… _she_ might've been covered from neck to feet in warm flannel, but he wasn't so lucky, sprawled out naked on his stomach with the blanket twisted around his legs. She was just about to reach over and pull it up for him when Nessie came around the side of the bed, giving him a hard, ringing slap on his bare backside.

Gwen stared at her in shock.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," she huffed as Lancelot came awake with a sharp gasp, scrambling to cover himself. "Nothing I haven't seen before, though at least it isn't as ugly as some. Hell, my old man's got more hair on his ass than…"

"Ummm…" Gwen hastily interrupted. "Was there… did you need something?"

Nessie smacked her forehead. "Here I am running off at the mouth again! Lancelot, we're clean out of firewood and Cook's boys are off sick for the day. I'll need you to do a bit of chopping for me just as soon as you can get to it."

"Of course," he agreed, suppressing a sigh as he sat up and reached for his trousers. "I'll be right down."

"Always nice to have a man around who isn't entirely useless," the older woman muttered under her breath, and then she was gone, casting the room back into a comfortable state of semi darkness.

Gwen turned on her back, stretching all the way to her toes as she let out a soft, sleepy groan. "Is it spring yet?"

Pulling on his boots, Lancelot paused to flash her a tired smile. "I'm counting the days."

"Bars?"

"Anyone wanting to come through our front door will need a battering ram to do it."

She closed her eyes, feeling his gentle kiss on her forehead and then listening to his retreating footsteps as he closed the door and descended the stairs. But she couldn't go back to sleep and so she rose, rummaging through the pile of fabric Nessie had dropped off until she found what she was looking for. It felt wonderful to have her own clothing again; she sighed happily as she stepped into the dress, soft and warm, crafted from a lovely expanse of cream colored wool.

Following that, she headed down for a leisurely breakfast, relieved to see that Nessie was preoccupied with a mother and her two young children. It wasn't that she didn't like the other woman, just that her thoughts were somewhere else this morning and she really wasn't in the mood for idle chatter.

Back upstairs, she settled herself in a chair beside the window, arranging supplies in front of her on the tiny table. It was something she was determined to do, but that didn't mean it was going to be easy. 

For a while, she was distracted by the rhythmic pounding of the axe, sighing in contentment as she looked outside to see Lancelot pause to swipe a hand across his sweaty brow. She could've watched him all day, particularly when he took his shirt off, muscles rippling in the morning sunlight as the wood piled up beside him. He really was a beautiful man, so fine and strong and…

"Focus, Gwen," she muttered to herself, tearing her eyes away to stare down at the blank sheet of parchment. "No sense in putting this off any longer."

Sighing, she dipped the quill in the tiny bottle of ink and began to write.

_Dear Merlin…_

An hour later, she was finished, staring down at line after line of neat handwriting. Perhaps it was a wasted effort to try and explain her actions, but the fact that he'd already been in contact with Lancelot had given her hope. She might not ever be able to return to Camelot, but there was still the need to make amends, to express how truly sorry she was and that she'd never had any intention of hurting anyone.

That feeling was what prompted her to reach for a second sheet, even though she knew this would most likely be the most difficult letter she'd ever have to write. She swallowed hard and bit her lip, then wet the quill once more.

_Dear Arthur…_

* * *

"Can you send these off for me?"

Nessie squinted at the twin rolls of parchment, then gave a curt nod. "Suppose so, seeing as I'm going that way anyway."

"Thank you, that's very kind," Gwen said, giving her a gentle smile.

"Don't see what's so kind about…" Nessie grumbled, pushing on the door just as Lancelot pulled it open. She would've fallen if he hadn't been so quick, catching her by the elbows and steadying her on her feet as she grunted in surprise.

"Forgive me, I should have been more careful."

She sniffed loudly. "It's a wonder I didn't smell you coming from a league away. Get upstairs and have a bath before you start scaring away the customers." But then she looked beyond him at the wood pile, giving a nod of approval. "That should be adequate for now."

"Don't worry about her," Gwen told him quietly as they watched Nessie hurry away. "I'd just said something deeply and unforgivably offensive when you came in."

"What did you say?"

"Thank you."

He chuckled, taking her hand in his sweaty one before drawing his fingers away to wipe them on his trousers. "I'm sorry, I'm a mess."

"You're fine," she reassured him, taking him by the arm instead as they headed up the stairs. "And anyway, you don't smell. Not to me, at least."

Dropping a kiss on top of her head, he said, "I would hope not, but I think I'll have a bath just to be sure."

"I'll ask…" Gwen started, trailing off as she pushed open the door to their room. "Oh, nevermind."

The tub was already waiting, the strong, yet pleasant fragrance of cedar filling the room as thick billows of steam rose from the water. Beside it were a chunk of soap, razor, and a pair of fresh towels. She grinned, realizing that for all of Nessie's bluster, this was her way of thanking Lancelot for his assistance rather than a comment on his lack of hygiene.

Clearly appreciative, he made short work of stripping out of his clothes, lowering himself into the water with a soft grunt of pleasure. She watched him for a few minutes as he leaned his head back against the edge of the tub and then smiled, taking the soap in her hands as she settled herself in the chair beside him.

"May I help?"

* * *

A couple weeks later, Lancelot slipped out just before dawn, leaving behind a sleeping Gwen as he unsheathed his sword and headed for the woods. He hadn't practiced in far too long, though it was nice to discover that all the manual labor he'd been doing for Nessie had helped him keep his strength up. Flying through his routine the first time, he pushed himself to repeat it, panting and sweating yet satisfied by the end of it all. However little he might need his skills in the future, he was determined not to lose them.

Following that, he stopped by the blacksmith's forge, borrowing a sharpening stone and then settling down to work on his blade. As always, he fell into a sort of trance, lulled by the comforting sound of metal scraping against stone as his mind began to conjure up memories of countless other times he'd performed this ritual. He rarely thought about his youth anymore, but it came back to him then, a scrawny lad with his first sword, honing the blade until it was razor-sharp as he'd fantasized about his future knighthood.

When that image melted away, he saw himself in Camelot, a hopeful young recruit polishing swords under the command of the man who'd once been his hero… Prince Arthur, who'd snuck around the corner and challenged him to the duel that had been his first and greatest chance to prove himself worthy of the dream he'd pursued.

And then there was a blur… sharpening with hard, lifeless eyes as he'd prepared to end the life of whatever cold-blooded mercenary killer was pitted against him… sharpening with hope when he'd slowly learned how to live again in the face of losing everything. But most of all, he imagined himself in Camelot once more, Sir Lancelot's hand moving up and down in that practiced rhythm, forever preparing to fight with honor against whatever foe might rise to threaten the kingdom he loved.

He tried to push the sadness away, the feeling of emptiness that came along with that memory. It seemed ungrateful to regret anything he'd lost, considering he'd gained something so much more precious in return. But it was still there despite everything, subtle reminders of who he once was and could never be again.

Maybe someday…? 

No, he pushed that thought away. He could never return to Camelot now, and any chance of finding a stable position in a household guard was slim. He'd simply have to face the reality that his years of fighting were over, then marry Gwen and become a farmer, or perhaps take up a trade skill if he could find one that suited him. Maybe once he'd gotten used to a quiet, peaceful life, the past would cease to haunt him.

When he came back to himself, the sun was high in the sky; cursing under his breath, he returned the whetstone to its owner and hurried back to the inn with a dozen apologies on his lips.

"Gwen, I'm sorry I was away for so long, I…"

She was glaring daggers at him as he entered the room, clutching a roll of parchment in one small fist.

"What…?"

Shoving past him to slam the door, she put some distance between them before turning around again, flinging whatever it was she was holding directly at his chest. He let out a surprised grunt but managed to catch it, giving her a nervous, questioning look before sliding his fingers between the broken seal.

"That's right," she snapped. "Read it!"

Part of him already knew what it was, but his blood still ran cold as he saw that only a single sentence was written there.

"Where was I the first time we ever met?" he read out in a subdued voice.

"In the stocks," she said, the words hard and flat, and then the page filled with Merlin's familiar handwriting.

_Gwen, what are you thinking?! I told Lancelot it's not safe for either of you to send letters here! The one addressed to me was bad enough, but to Arthur? Do you want to see Lancelot dead?! What do you think is going to happen if Arthur finds out where the two of you are? Gwen, he still thinks Lancelot murdered Agravaine in cold blood, and…_

Lancelot's eyes skimmed a little further down the page.

_… told you that Gwaine and I are doing our best to prove his innocence, but it takes time! I told you to both lay low until then, and you…_

He swallowed hard, pretending to be a slower reader than he actually was as he searched his mind for some plausible explanation for withholding the truth.

_As for the rest, I don't know if I'm quite ready to…_

"Are you finished?" Gwen said impatiently.

He sighed, setting the letter on the table. "Yes, I…"

"You lied to me."

"I may not have told you everything, but…"

"After everything we've been through, you _lied_ to me!"

Sinking down on the bed, he watched as she paced across the room and back again. "I just didn't want to worry you. We're safe where we are, and Merlin and Gwaine are both searching for a solution."

" _I don't even know what's going on!_ "

"I'm afraid I don't know much more than you do. Only that Agravaine seems to have faked his own death, making it look like I was the one who murdered him."

"What else?" she said, turning her back on him to stare out the window.

"Apparently I also killed quite a few guards and threatened the life of the king."

"Yes, but there's something else you're not telling me. Even Arthur, as gullible as he can be sometimes, wouldn't believe you were capable of that without some _very_ strong persuasion. As Agravaine is supposedly dead…"

He hesitated, then let out a resigned sigh. "Your brother is the one at the front of it. He wrote to Arthur with the story, from what I understand, and provided all the evidence against me."

"Elyan…?" she whispered, sounding hurt and bewildered. "He... he didn't exactly try and stop my execution, but I had no idea he could be so…"

"Merlin believes he's enchanted," Lancelot said hastily. "If that's true, it's reasonable to assume that was the case all along. I know he was angry, but I don't think he would've wanted to see you dead, Gwen."

"I don't know what to think anymore… about anything."

He rose and came to stand behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. Shoving him off, she spun around and glared at him. "Don't touch me."

"Gwen…"

"No! You… so your life is in danger, and you saw no need to share this with me?! The entire kingdom believes you're a murderer, and even if Arthur isn't searching that hard, no doubt other people are! I can't _believe_ you would…"

"You know I didn't do it."

" _Of course I know!_ That's not the point!"

"I'm sorry, I should have said something. I just didn't want to…"

"Worry me? Don't you get it, Lancelot? You're all I _have_ now! I've lost everything else! My home, my family, my friends, everything I've ever known! And you thought it was all right to keep this from me? Knowing that at any time you could be captured, or even killed right in front of my eyes… no warning, no chance to even…" she trailed off as she burst into tears.

"Gwen, I'm sorry, I…"

"Do you know what hurts the most? It's that you don't trust me. You…"

He moved closer again, reaching out for her, but she swatted his hands away. "That's not true! I…"

"It _is_ true. Otherwise you would've told me and given me a chance to have a say in the matter. This is my life, too, and yet you're still busy trying to figure it out for both of us. Nothing's changed, has it? You still think I'm too stupid to trust my judgment, feel like you have to coddle me like some feebleminded child…"

"No, I've never..." But then the door burst open; Lancelot didn't even bother to muffle his voice as he swore in frustration.

"Hey, what's all the yelling about up here?" Millie asked, her eyes bright and curious. "Customers are starting to get a little restless."

"We were just having a discussion, and would appreciate some privacy," he said tersely.

"Ah, no such thing as privacy in a place like this," she responded, unperturbed by his obvious irritation. "Would've thought you knew that by now. Anyway, I'll let you get back to clawing his eyes out. Just do it quietly, yeah?"

"No need," Gwen said abruptly, hurrying around the room to gather several items of clothing. "Is there somewhere else I can sleep tonight?"

"No, please don't go," Lancelot protested. "I'm sorry…"

But she wouldn't meet his eyes, stepping gracefully out of his reach as he tried to catch her elbow.

"Inn's all full," Millie said with a shrug. "But I've got a place just a couple streets over. You can come stay with me if you want."

"Thank you, that would be lovely."

"Gwen, please…"

But even though he was practically begging as she walked out the door, she never looked back.


	110. Drunken Confessions

#  **Chapter 110: Drunken Confessions**

* * *

"Is this your seventh or your eighth?" Millie asked Lancelot as she slid the tankard of ale across the table. "I've lost count."

"Does it matter?"

She smirked, dropping into the empty chair across from him. "I guess not. I'm cutting you off either way."

"Fine," he muttered, staring at his drink without enthusiasm before lifting it to his lips. "I should probably be sober when Gwen returns."

"First of all, you're far from sober…"

"A bit tipsy, perhaps. It'll wear off soon enough."

"Drunk," she corrected him, ignoring his irritated scowl. "And don't bother arguing otherwise. I've been working here long enough to know the difference."

"Fine."

"What was I saying? Oh yeah, she's not coming back tonight."

"You can't know that for certain."

"Pretty sure of it."

He sighed heavily, setting down his tankard and then leaning forward to bury his head in his hands. "You could have helped me, you know."

"I _am_ helping you. You're just too much of a stubborn ass to see it."

"I hardly see how offering her a place to stay was very helpful. Well, unless you think me being alone and miserable is a _good_ thing."

Millie was grinning when he looked up at her. "Maybe I just wanted to get her out of the way so I could take advantage of you in your drunken stupor."

"I'll take out my sword and cut it off before I allow that to happen."

"Lancelot, you've always known just what to say to flatter a lady," she purred, batting her eyelashes at him. "My, look at that – I'm blushing!"

"Don't you have other customers that need your attention?" he grumbled.

"The last one left nearly an hour ago."

He lifted his head, glancing around the empty room with red, bleary eyes. "What time is it?"

"It was one o'clock the last time I checked."

"Oh, sorry… you must be ready to close up for the night."

"Yes," she said as she rose to her feet. "But first, I'm taking you upstairs."

"I told you, I will _never_ …"

"Hush, Lancelot. Unless I'm wrong, you can hardly walk right now. I'll help you to your room, then I'll go see how Gwen is doing."

"Gwen," he mumbled, pushing himself up from his chair and then blinking in surprise when it fell over with a loud clatter. "Sorry about that. Um... when you see her, tell her to come back. Please."

Millie shook her head as she allowed him to swing a heavy arm over her shoulders. "Nope."

"Why?"

"Because a woman knows when she needs time to cool off. She'll be back when she's ready."

* * *

Gwen was sitting on the comfortable rag rug in front of the hearth when Millie finally arrived home. She'd barely moved in hours, drinking steadily from the jug of wine she'd found in the tiny kitchen as she stared moodily into the flames.

"Well, that's one thing you and your man have in common. Obviously like to drown your sorrows."

"I'm sorry, I have every intention of replacing it, I just…"

Millie rolled her eyes, turning away to take off her coat. "I've got plenty more where that came from. Just give me a minute to change and I'll be doing my best to catch up with you."

She strode into the bedroom, not bothering to close the door as she discarded her flimsy blue dress in favor of an even skimpier… Gwen assumed it was her nightgown, but it could have just as easily been undergarments.

"There, that's better," she said with a grin, sprawling out on the rug with her own jug cradled against her chest. "Now we can talk."

"Please don't feel like you have to stay up for my sake. It's late, and you must be tired after working all evening."

"Are you kidding? Night's just getting started for me."

"Oh, all right."

"So you want to tell me what happened?"

Gwen let out a heavy sigh. "It's… complicated."

"Always is," Millie nodded, then took a long drink of wine. "Of course, the harder it is to unravel, the more you probably need to go ahead and do it. Know what I mean?"

"I think I do. It's just there's so much I can't talk about."

"Why not?"

Gwen met her eyes, giving her a sad smile. "I've done things I'm not particularly proud of."

"You think you're the only one? What do you have to lose by sharing your secrets with someone like me? Not going to try and force it out of you, but I do know we can't make much of anything better if we're afraid to own up to it."

"I… um…" But it was difficult to argue with that, particularly in her intoxicated state. Besides, she was so tired of keeping secrets, either holding her tongue or lying to those around her and having the same done to her. In the end, facing even the harshest truth was so much less painful than living with a lie. She'd learned that on the morning Arthur had come to retrieve her for the wedding. Yes, she'd been terrified and filled with remorse, but beneath that had been the most intense feeling of… _relief_.

And so she spent the next hour unburdening her soul to a woman she barely knew… a woman who never criticized her for her choices, even as she described the very worst of them. Millie only nodded, making soft sounds of sympathy, even chuckling where there was some humor to be found in her story. Gwen told her everything, from the first time she'd ever met Lancelot, right up to their unfortunate fallout earlier that evening. She left nothing out, with the exception of Merlin's magic, deciding that wasn't her secret to share.

"Wow…" Millie said when she finally came to the end. "I don't even know where to start."

"I told you it was complicated."

"Okay, let's see here… your brother deserves to be punched in the balls repeatedly, no denying that. And this Aggravating fellow?"

"Agravaine," Gwen corrected her.

"I don't see the difference. Anyway, he should have his balls roasted over a spit, then fed to the dogs."

"I'd really rather not think about Agravaine's…"

"Balls?" Millie cackled as Gwen shuddered in disgust. "All right then, moving on. Merlin… was that his name? Right. Maybe he needs to be licking King Arthur's balls himself, rather than trying to make other people do it."

" _Millie!_ "

"What? From what you've told me, he did everything possible to try and get you to marry the man, even after you made it clear that you weren't so sure about it. I've been whored out myself, Gwen. I know what it feels like."

"It really wasn't like that," Gwen protested, feeling a little defensive. "He just wanted to see me happy. Maybe he went about it the wrong way, but…"

Millie shook her head. "I hate to tell you this, but what he was trying to do was never about making you happy. He might have fooled you and maybe even himself into believing otherwise, but that was all for Uther's sake."

"Arthur."

"Right. Getting the names mixed up here. Anyway, if you ask me, he's the one who owes you an apology, not the other way around. Was never his place to interfere with your life like that."

"Fair enough, but still, what I did to Arthur…"

"Do you think you're the first woman who's ever been torn between two men? Happens all the time, and sooner or later, one always has to be the loser. Just because a king can get away with calling it treason doesn't mean it is."

"But he was humiliated… I agreed to marry him…"

"No, you were forced into it."

Gwen frowned. "But he doesn't know that."

"Maybe he should have."

"I couldn't have told him, I…"

Millie smiled and shook her head, pausing to take another drink. "That's not what I mean. He had a part in this, too, and he chose to see only what he wanted to see. He might have loved you in his own way, but he was in it for the wrong reasons just like you were."

"What do you mean?"

"Afraid to think for himself? Turns a blind eye whenever he can get away with it? Don't you think there's something off about you feeling like you had to teach a grown man the difference between right and wrong, always trying to push him this way or that to avoid the next catastrophe?"

"You don't understand, Millie. The way he was raised…"

"Oh, don't give me that shit. I sure as hell wasn't raised in a palace with servants putting golden diapers on my ass, and I imagine you weren't either. I had a harder childhood than someone like him could ever dream of, but you don't see me flopping down on my back for every man who tosses a coin my way, do you? And look at you – lost your entire family and still managed to survive. Why is it different for Arthur?"

Gwen looked at her with wide eyes. "Because he's never had to figure it out for himself."

"That's right. You and me learned how to take care of ourselves because we had no other choice. As long as he has someone like you patting him on the head every time he does something right or manipulative bastards like that Agravaine leadng him around by the nose, what do you expect? No need to learn to make decisions for yourself if there's always someone else around to do it."

"I never thought about it like that."

"Imagine you haven't, otherwise you wouldn't be making excuses for him. Whatever you think, he's a grown man. Not just an ordinary man either, but a king. If he's going to be a good one, he'll have to figure out how to trust his own judgment. There's going to be a lot of people trying to tell him what's what throughout his life, and most of them won't be like you."

"I... that's a good point."

"I'll tell you another thing," Millie said thoughtfully, gazing into the waning fire. "Breaking his heart might be the best thing you've ever done for him, forcing him to stand on his own and face the truth and all that. I might be wrong, but something tells me you weren't the only one who knew there was something missing from your relationship. Only difference is that you eventually stopped ignoring it."

"Yes," she murmured, not sure what else to say.

"Of course now you have the opposite problem to deal with."

"I do?"

Millie grinned at her. "Last man was clinging to your skirts waiting for you to tell him how to take a piss. The one you've got now would probably cut it off before he asked for help."

"Oh, come on! That's a bit of an exaggeration, don't you think?"

"I don't know," Millie said, giving her a mischievous wink. "He already threatened to do it once tonight."

Gwen raised her hand to her mouth. "He did? Because of me?"

"No, no! I said… well, nevermind. He was just drunk. Talking out of his ass like they all do when they get like that."

"I was really hard on him. He _has_ been trying – I know he has. I guess that's why I was so upset when I found out about the letter. I thought we were past that… you know, keeping secrets, doing things for my own good without bothering to tell me about it."

Millie sighed. "He's a tough one, for sure. Born with a heart of gold – ever tell him I said that and I'll kill you, by the way. Anyway, he's a man who'd live and die for you. Brave, protective, unselfish to a fault…"

"I know," Gwen said softly.

"But there's a downside to that, too. He's _so_ protective that sometimes he doesn't know where to stop. Tends to forget that it isn't always his place to make the decisions he does. I do think you're right – he's not half as bad as he was a few years ago, which must mean he's trying. But you have to realize that it's part of his nature, too, not something that's just going to disappear overnight."

"So you're saying I should just learn to live with it?"

"Hell no! I'm saying you might go through a few rough spots while he figures out the difference. That man has been on his own pretty much all his life. He's just going to have to get used to the fact that he's not the only one calling the shots anymore, that's all."

"Millie?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you tell me about it?"

"What's that?"

"The time you spent together at that place. Lancelot explained some of it, but... no, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have even asked. Forget it."

Millie shrugged. "I suppose it's only fair. All right then, what would you like to know?"

"Well, I know you were forced to…"

"Whore myself?"

"I wasn't going to put it like that."

Millie smirked at her. "Saying it more politely doesn't change what it was. I was a whore, on my back with a different man between my thighs every night… sometimes two or three of them before the sun came up. Some weren't so bad. Others were brutal. I wouldn't recommend it."

"I'm sorry, I…"

"Seeing as you've never paid a bit of silver for the pleasure of fucking me, I don't see why you have anything to apologize for."

"I just mean I'm sorry you had to go through something so terrible."

Shaking her head, Millie said, "These things can either make us stronger or destroy us. I hope it's obvious which one I chose."

"Of course it is. It's amazing that you even managed to survive what you went through."

"Yes. And as much as I hate to admit it, that man of yours is a big part of why I did."

"I'm glad he took you away from there."

Millie smiled, her expression softer and more gentle than Gwen had ever seen it. "No, he saved me long before we ever left Greytower."

"How?"

"Compassion. Kindness. He treated me with respect, something that no man had ever done before. You know he was forced to fight in the cage while he was there?"

"Yes. He told me that."

"Did he tell you that he used the money he earned to purchase me for himself so I'd no longer have to be fucked by a bunch of strangers?"

Gwen stared at her, speechless. "He made you his…?"

"No, no! Lancelot never tried to make me fuck him, even though he was technically paying for that privilege. I even offered myself to him at first, but he turned me down. He was horrified by the idea of me doing it because I felt like I had to."

"Oh, I'm glad to hear that. So you never…?"

Millie raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you asking what I think you're asking?"

"I… I feel like I need to know. There's so little I understand about his past, and he'd never tell me something like this."

"You're right about that."

Gwen hesitated, rolling a cork between her fingers. "Will you?"

"Before I get into this, you need to understand something. He was like a different man during that time, walking around with this hard, lifeless look in his eyes. There was no escape, no future beyond those walls. He was always certain that the next fight would be his last, and even if it wasn't, everything he'd ever wanted was lost to him anyway. He was a man who truly believed he had nothing left to live for."

"That's terrible," Gwen said softly. "I've only seen him like that once, but…"

Millie continued in a rush, as if she were desperate to have it over with. "We were forced to share a bed for months, so my father would believe… I suppose it was inevitable that it happened, but it was never… believe me, it was only physical, especially on his part."

Gwen struggled to swallow a hot rush of jealousy. "I… when did it stop?"

"Before we ever left there. He hated himself for it. I could see it in his eyes every damn time it happened. Guilt, shame, disgust. He felt like he was betraying everything he was supposed to be."

"I… well, it wasn't as if he made any promises to me. I was sure I'd never see him again, so he must have felt the same way. It's not like he was doing anything wrong…"

"You and I know that, but he could never see it that way," Millie said quietly. "Even then, you were the reason he stopped."

"I was?"

"He loved you so much that he just couldn't stand being with anyone else. If you ask me, you're the only reason he survived as long as he did. He'd close his eyes and it was always you he was calling for, you who gave him the strength to face another day. I couldn't understand it… that a love like that could exist. Even now…"

"I know," Gwen whispered, suddenly finding it difficult to remember why she'd been angry with him in the first place. "I can hardly believe it myself."

"I… are you okay with this? Trust me, it wasn't… I was never the one he wanted. And that goes both ways, though it took me a little while to figure that out. I'll always care about him, but you don't have to worry…"

"No, I know. I understand. Really, it's all right."

"You sure?"

Maybe it was because she was drunk, but an entirely inappropriate thought occurred to Gwen, making her giggle. "I suppose I have you to thank for a few things. Well, unless there was someone else before…"

Millie sucked in a sharp breath. "Oh, no. I was _definitely_ the first."

Gwen was laughing outright by then. "Why do you look like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like someone just fed you rotten eggs or something."

"That's a good comparison."

Gwen looked at her with wide eyes. "How can you say that?! He's so… the things he does to me… his hands, his mouth… oh, that's not appropriate, is it?"

Rolling her eyes, Millie said, "Being appropriate just means missing out on all the fun. Anyway, he didn't start out like that. Not that men are supposed to be good their first time, mind you, but he was a _special_ kind of bad."

"That's awful! You shouldn't…" But any attempt to be offended on Lancelot's behalf failed miserably; Gwen snorted, spilling wine down the front of her nightgown.

"Yeah, you're right. He turned out fine and that's all that matters, isn't it?"

That comment prompted an almost devilish smile. "I don't have any complaints." 

"Oh, you know who else was good? That friend of his he brought here few years back. Wouldn't mind having _him_ between my thighs again, that's for sure."

"What friend?"

"Gwaine? You were talking about him earlier, just didn't want to disrupt such a serious conversation by commenting on how big his cock was. That would've been rude, even by my standards."

" _You_ have standards?" Gwen said in mock surprise, managing to keep a straight face for all of five seconds before she collapsed in another fit of giggles. Millie whacked her over the head with a pillow.

"As much as I hate to cut this short," she said after their laughter had finally died down. "I _do_ have to work tomorrow…erm, today. We should probably get to bed."

"Where would you like me to sleep?"

"Sixth door on the right, just across from the banquet hall. Where the hell do you think? Come on."

Together, they managed to stumble into the bedroom, collapsing on Millie's large, surprisingly soft bed. Gwen's eyelids soon grew heavy as she snuggled beneath the blankets, smiling to herself as she imagined what she'd say to Lancelot when she returned to him in the morning. Really, she shouldn't have walked out on him in the first place, but it was difficult to regret it after the night she'd just had.

She was nearly asleep when Millie called her name in an urgent whisper.

"Gwen?"

"Mmmm?"

"I fucked Gwaine right here in this bed, you know."

Following a comment like that, it was quite some time before their drunken laughter was finally replaced by the sound of soft, even breathing.


	111. Unexpected Expectations

#  **Chapter 111: Unexpected Expectations**

* * *

Lancelot reached for her before he even opened his eyes, but of course, the place where she usually slept was cold and empty. He sat up with a sigh, then grunted in pain as he pressed his palm against his forehead in a futile attempt to ease the pain of a splitting headache.

But then he recalled something he'd almost forgotten. He had to dig all the way to the bottom of the sack Gwaine had given them, but there they were – several vials of a remedy that had helped him face the day on more than one occasion. Trust the man to have remembered the important things.

Soon enough, he was downstairs, freshly washed and dressed in clean clothes as he headed for the door with a determined expression on his face. Gwen might not be willing to talk to him just yet, but he had to try. There was no other option.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Nessie demanded, hands resting on her broad hips.

Oh, he wasn't in the mood for this. Not now. "I'm going to see Gwen. She…"

"Got all riled up over something you did and spent the night elsewhere. Yes, I know."

"How do you…? Nevermind. I need to go."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You _need_ to have a hot breakfast. Then you can do what you like."

"I'm not hungry."

"Don't care. Sit down."

As impatient as he was, Lancelot had to admit he felt better once he'd eaten, especially since he'd been left to do so in peace once the other tables had started to fill up. He'd made quick work of his ham and eggs, slipping out the door before Nessie could come up with some other reason to delay him.

It had snowed overnight; the little village was blanketed in fresh white powder, and the pleasant odor of wood smoke was heavy in the air. He crossed the short distance between the inn and Millie's tiny cottage, swallowing a rush of anxiety before he raised his hand to knock.

It seemed as if there'd be no answer, but then there was a muffled curse from within, followed by a bit of fumbling with the latch. The door opened just a crack and Millie peered up at him, her face twisted in a scowl of irritation. She looked much the way he'd felt when he'd woken up that morning... like hell.

"What do _you_ want?"

"I'd like to see Gwen."

"Yeah, stupid question on my part. She's still asleep."

Lancelot frowned. "It's already well past noon."

"It is?! Shit! I've got to get to… well, get in here. Sun's killing my eyes."

Stepping into the dim interior of the house, he nearly stumbled over the empty jugs of wine that were scattered all over the rug. Gwen was indeed still sleeping; he caught a glimpse of her silhouette beneath the blanket before Millie gave him a pointed look and went in the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

"I'll be right back," he called softly.

"Do what you want," came her muffled reply.

He returned a few minutes later, slightly out of breath as he waited beside the hearth. When Millie emerged, somewhat cleaned up and dressed for work, he held out one of the small vials.

"What's that?" she demanded, staring at it suspiciously.

"Drink it."

"You trying to poison me or something?"

He sighed. "Just drink it. It'll make you feel better."

"Fine." She snatched it out of his hand and then hurried to the door, slamming it behind her without another word.

As soon as she was gone, he went into the bedroom, nearly tripping over another empty jug as he did so. Gwen was still deeply asleep, lying on her stomach with her head resting on her arms. He knelt beside the bed and smoothed a couple of stray curls away from her face, unable to resist the urge to kiss her soft cheek before he sank back on his heels and whispered her name.

She stirred, letting out a petulant whimper as she turned her face away.

"Gwen?"

"No," she mumbled, burrowing deeper into the blankets. "Sleeping."

"I have something for you."

"Go away. Tired."

He let out a resigned sigh. "I suppose I'll just have to wait then."

"Mmmm…"

He settled himself against the wall, leaning his head back as he listened to the sound of her soft breathing. It must've taken at least another hour; he was lightly dozing himself by the time she opened her eyes with a groan of obvious discomfort.

"Lancelot, what…? Oh, my head… it feels like it's about to explode."

He leaned forward, pressing the little bottle into her hand. "Here, this will help."

She held it up for inspection, turning it this way and that as she frowned in confusion. "Is this…?"

"It is," he confirmed, giving her a tentative smile. "Gwaine put some of it in our bag."

"Bless him," she sighed, then downed it in one swallow.

Lancelot took a deep breath. "Gwen, I wanted to…"

"Wait a minute. Where are my clothes?" She sat up abruptly, peering under the blankets with an expression of deep consternation.

"Is this what you're looking for?" he questioned, holding up a white nightgown with a large purple stain across the front.

She smacked her forehead. "Oh, that's right. I spilled wine on myself and took it off. I… oh lord, I'm all sticky."

With that realization, she was out of bed, heading to the washstand where she dipped a rag into the basin and began sponging herself off. "Oh, there's some soap here. Wonderful."

Lancelot stared at her, all bare, smooth skin with the exception of the tiny undergarments that barely covered her softly rounded backside. Cursing under his breath, he felt himself grow hard.

"Did you say something?" she asked him innocently, turning around to face him as she began soaping her breasts.

"I, ah… no."

"You wanted to talk," she said, wincing slightly before she dropped the rough rag back into the basin, then switched to her hands to rub the soap across her wet skin.

"I… I do, but… good lord, I can't think straight when you're doing that."

"What?" She looked down at herself, then blushed. "Oh, right. I just figured you were used to seeing me this way by now."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Used to being incredibly aroused every time I do, perhaps."

Biting her lip, she gazed at him for a long moment. "Come here."

"I… are you sure? I thought you were angry with me."

"No," she said softly. "Not anymore."

She turned back to the washstand, watching him in the mirror as he wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her tight against his chest. "I'm sorry," he murmured, burying his face in her hair. "I should've never… I was wrong. I was only trying to protect you, but I didn't think… I was foolish, I…"

"Shhh," she whispered, reaching back to thread her fingers through his hair as he surrendered to temptation and brought his lips to her upturned mouth. "I know." Kissing him deeply, she swallowed his sigh of relief, pulling back just long enough to say, "It's all right, but please don't let it happen…"

"Never," he vowed between the kisses that immediately followed. "Never again."

"Promise?"

"Swear on my life."

"Mmmm..."

Plunging his hands in the water, he picked up the soap and created a thick lather, smiling almost mischievously at her reflection as he did so.

"I'm already clean, you don't have to… ohh…"

She closed her eyes, her head falling back against his shoulder as his hands slid across her wet skin, cradling the heavy swells of her breasts in his palms as his callused thumbs rubbed back and forth across her nipples. Moaning softly, she brought her arms up, locking them behind his neck as his slick hands moved down her body, gliding across her stomach until he reached the scrap of fabric that still covered her below the waist.

He deftly untied the ribbons, easing the undergarment down until it fell to her feet; she stepped out of it, kicking it aside as he dipped and lathered again, then slipped his fingers between her velvety folds.

"Yes…" she whispered, the word catching in her throat as he rubbed her gently at first, then increased the friction when she pressed herself more firmly into the touch. "Please…"

Meanwhile, his other hand tugged at the laces of his trousers, fumbling a bit before he managed to release himself. He groaned as his erection came in contact with her soft skin, her backside sliding against him in a slow, sensuous rhythm as she whimpered low in her throat. She was close now, so close… just a little more, and…

"Lean forward," he murmured, his voice coming out deep and husky as his lips moved against her ear. She did so without hesitation, releasing the hold she had on his neck to brace herself with her arms. She was right on the brink; he could feel it. Yes, _now_... he caught her tiny nub between his fingers, giving it a gentle squeeze at the exact moment his hips jerked forward, burying himself inside her with a powerful thrust.

She fell apart, one loud, wild cry swiftly followed by another, echoing off the walls as she pulsed all around him, hands clinging desperately to the washstand as she shuddered from head to toe.

"Gwen," he said, after giving her a moment to recover. "Look up."

Panting softly, she lifted her head and saw what already had him mesmerized. It was her reflection in the mirror, lovely features still slack with pleasure, breasts swaying gently back and forth in time with his slow, rhythmic thrusts. She stared at herself as if hypnotized before her eyes shifted to him, pushing into her and then withdrawing, muscles tense and glistening with sweat as he struggled to maintain control.

"Oh…" she breathed, captivated by the sight as he slid his hands all over her body, caressing her back, her stomach, then moving further up to tease her nipples between his fingers. Eyes drifting closed, she gasped and pushed back against him. "More…"

With that one simple word, the last of his restraint shattered to pieces. He grabbed her roughly by the hips, holding her steady as he thrusted harder, driving deeper, finally spilling his release inside her with a helpless groan of pleasure as she whimpered his name in the aftermath of her own.

There was no way to hold her… not until she turned around and wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her cheek against his swiftly beating heart.

"Gwen, I…" But he didn't know what else to say beyond the somewhat awkward apology he'd already offered. Was everything all right between them now?

But then she raised up on her tiptoes and gave him a soft kiss, smiling to herself as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. "Just let me get my clothes."

* * *

After their unfortunate misunderstanding, the rest of the winter passed peacefully enough. Lancelot managed to stay active thanks to the chores Nessie was forever asking him to do, along with hours of training that had him out at dawn more often than not. Meanwhile, Gwen had found her own way of keeping busy when she'd gone to visit the tailor to borrow needle and thread one afternoon. He'd asked to see a sample of her work and when she'd brought back Lancelot's shirt the next day, the large tear expertly mended, he'd offered to pay for her help whenever he had a surplus of commissions.

He was an elderly man, nothing but skin and bones with a face full of craggy wrinkles. But his eyes were kind – blue, twinkling orbs that lit up whenever he saw her. Not much of a talker, perhaps, but she enjoyed the companionable silence they shared, frequently choosing to complete her work right there in the shop rather than carry it back to the inn with her.

On the other hand, Millie never seemed to _stop_ talking, but Gwen didn't mind that either. The pair had become fast friends, made better by the fact that she hadn't had proper female companionship in years.

In the end, even though she'd loved Morgana deeply, she had to admit that her friendship with Millie was much more comfortable. There was no need to keep secrets, no difference in station that demanded she behave a certain way whenever she was around her. She could just be herself and say what she pleased, no need to worry about overstepping some boundary she'd forgotten about or hadn't even been aware of in the first place.

Millie had _no_ boundaries, which was definitely scandalizing at times. But much more often than that, it was refreshing.

"I don't know if I want to leave here," Gwen mumbled drowsily one morning, just as winter was giving way to the earliest signs of spring.

"Then don't," Lancelot said, gazing at her with sleepy eyes as his hand crept beneath the blankets to gently squeeze her breast. "I'll tell everyone you're ill, and then we can stay in bed all day long, hmmm?"

She winced in pain. "Stop, that's not what…"

It wouldn't be a lie; she _had_ been feeling a little sick lately. Too much rich food – she really needed to cut back on all the second helpings she'd been having. But of course, that wasn't what she'd meant.

"No, Lancelot. I mean _here_. It's almost spring, and I know we were talking about maybe going somewhere else to live, but…"

He smiled, running his hand across her stomach. "I don't care where I am as long as you're happy. If you want to stay here, then that's what we'll do."

"Really?"

"Of course." He nuzzled her neck, his fingers drifting lower to stroke the fine thatch of hair between her thighs. "And with that settled…"

She sat up abruptly, pushing his hand away. "I can't right now. I've got to…" Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she grabbed the first piece of clothing she could find, which happened to be the dress she'd discarded the night before. By the time she pulled her shoes on, she was desperate, only pausing to plant a hasty kiss on his cheek before practically racing for the door.

"Where are you going?" He sat up, staring at her in confusion. "I thought you didn't have to leave for at least another hour."

"Um… I said I'd be there early today… forgot…"

She pounded down the stairs and out the front entrance, barely making it around the side of the building before bending over to retch in a patch of half melted snow.

"How far along are you?"

Wiping her mouth, she swallowed hard and turned around to face Millie. "What? Oh no, I'm not… I mean, I can't be…"

Millie raised an eyebrow at her. "Considering how much time that man spends rutting away between those pretty thighs of yours, I'm surprised he hasn't put a baby in you long before this."

"I… I was taking a potion, but then we left Camelot, and I didn't even think about… oh…"

She went down on her knees this time, her body heaving with the effort to bring something else up when it felt like she had nothing left to give. Cool hands brushed across her neck, drawing her hair back from her face as she leaned forward with a helpless groan, emptying the meager contents of her stomach.

"I can't be…" she mumbled a few minutes later, still panting as she rose to her feet.

"Feel like you're done?"

"I… Yes, I think so. For now."

"Right," Millie said, taking her by the elbow. "Let's get you some water."

* * *

"Doing better?"

Gwen pushed the cup away, managing a weak smile. "Yes, I think so. Thank you."

"Might be good to try a little bread, but not quite yet," Millie said, gazing at her thoughtfully from across the table. "Anyway, this brings me back to my earlier question – how far along are you? When's the last time you had your courses?"

"What day is it?"

"The 29th of March."

"I… oh lord… the last time I remember was sometime in January. Maybe even a little before that."

Millie nodded. "So you're two, maybe three months along? You'll be showing soon, especially if it's the latter."

"And I thought it was just all the rich food I've been eating. I guess there's no hope of that now, right?" she said, attempting a chuckle that came out sounding more like a whimper of despair.

"Have your breasts been sore?"

"I… yes."

"Moody?"

Gwen smiled, shaking her head. "I burst into tears last week when Lancelot was just talking about the weather. I can't believe it never occurred to me that…"

"Don't suppose it's all that obvious to a woman who's never been in the situation or isn't trying her best to get that way. Question is, how do you feel about it now that you are?"

"I'm shocked, but I…" For the first time, she rested a hand on her belly, imagining the tiny being that was growing within. Part of her. Part of Lancelot. A brand new life, created out of the love they shared. "I think I'm happy. Yes, I… I've never given much thought to having a child, but…"

Millie abruptly cut her off. "When are you going to tell him?"

"I don't know, I…"

"You can do it now if you want. He's headed this way."

"What?!" She turned in her chair to see Lancelot walking in their direction, giving her a sweet, if slightly bewildered smile. "I'm not ready… I… please don't…"

"Don't worry. He won't be hearing it from me." But just as Gwen breathed a sigh of relief, Millie rose from her seat, poking Lancelot in the ribs with a gleeful comment of, "Nice work!"

He stared after her in confusion for a moment, then returned his attention to Gwen. "What was that all about?"

"Nothing," she said, scowling at Millie over his shoulder and receiving a sly wink in return before the other woman sauntered away.

"Are you all right?" Lancelot said softly, reaching out to take her hand. "You seemed shaken when you left the room, and you still look a little pale."

"I'm fine, I'm just…"

_Carrying your child._

She almost told him right then, but his eyes were no longer on her face. He was staring at something behind her, his mouth falling open with a gasp of disbelief. She turned around and there was Gwaine, dirty and obviously exhausted, but seeming like his typical cheerful self despite his ragged appearance. Indeed, he was grinning at them both like they were the greatest thing he'd ever seen.

"Thought I'd find you here!" he called out, striding across the room to greet them.


	112. A Familiar Face

#  **Chapter 112: A Familiar Face**

* * *

"Don't suppose you can buy me breakfast?" Gwaine said as he dropped heavily into an empty chair. "Haven't eaten since the day before yesterday."

Lancelot gave him a vigorous nod and gestured at Nessie, who didn't seem to recognize the newcomer. Of course, that might've had something to do with the way he was keeping his face averted, almost as if he were doing it on purpose.

"Three?" she said curtly.

"No, just two," Gwen told her, trying to sound casual. "I'm not eating."

Why did he have to be so attentive? Any other man would've probably never noticed, but there he was, staring back at her with soft brown eyes full of concern.

"Aren't you hungry? You haven't eaten anything this morning, and you still look…"

"Yes, I have," she replied automatically. "I had something earlier."

"No, you didn't," Nessie said in a stern voice. "But we'll be taking care of that shortly."

Gwen glared at her retreating back, then sighed and turned back to the others.

"Always liked this place," Gwaine commented, reaching for the tankard of mead in front of him and raising it to his lips. "Especially nice after the shitholes I've been sleeping in lately. That redhead still work here?"

"Millie?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"She does," Lancelot said, giving him a knowing look. "You just missed her, but I'm sure she'll be back later."

"Good to hear."

"It's nice to see you, Gwaine," Gwen said softly.

He smiled, giving her a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Likewise. Figured you were here all along, of course, but I've been too busy chasing one lead after another to make it over this way before now."

"Any luck?" Lancelot asked, obviously trying not to appear too hopeful.

"Afraid not, my friend. All the trails had gone cold by the time I got to them, if they were even real to begin with. I've been searching everywhere – one fellow told me he'd spotted him way up north, another swore up and down that he'd seen the bastard creeping out of some hovel in the woods. Even had a lady tell me she'd caught him in her chicken coop one night stealing her eggs, but that turned out to be one of her neighbors. Wherever he is, he's well hidden. I expected that, of course, but…"

"I appreciate your efforts nonetheless. Thank you."

"Ah, don't look so disappointed. I did bring you some news. Had a letter from Merlin recently, and he said… oh, here's our food!"

Nessie set down plates in front of each of them, piled high with eggs, sausages, and fresh baked bread. She started to walk away, but then she stopped in her tracks, bending down to peer more closely at Gwaine's dirty face. 

"Is it… well, I'll be damned! Filthy and stinking, but that's you all right!"

Gwaine responded with some outrageous flirtation that earned him a cuff upside the head, but Gwen wasn't listening anymore. She was too busy staring down at her sausages, swallowing hard as a thin trickle of fat oozed out onto the plate. Without warning, she bolted from her chair and ran for the door.

"Ohhh," she groaned miserably, not even caring what she was doing to her skirt as she fell to her knees in the muddy street and began to retch again. She'd known she was pregnant for less than an hour, and already, she hated it.

"Bun in the oven?"

She nodded, then slumped over again as she was hit by another wave of nausea.

"He doesn't know?" Nessie asked her when she was finished.

Gwen shook her head, speaking in a hoarse whisper. "I'm not ready to tell him yet."

There was a sniff from above. "Expect that's your choice, but one of us had better tell him _something_. Poor man probably thinks you're dying out here – it was all I could do to keep him in his seat when you went running out of there."

"I'm sorry, I…"

"There's a tea for this sort of thing. Most women I've known in your condition swear by the stuff. I'll take you up to bed, then we'll see if we can get what we need from the apothecary."

"Thank you," she said, accepting a strong, chubby arm as Nessie helped her to her feet. "That's very kind."

"No, it's not. Just don't want you doing it on my clean floors. That sort of thing scares away the customers, you know."

"Of course," Gwen agreed, and although she still felt wretched, she couldn't help smiling.

* * *

"I'm putting this girl to bed," Nessie announced brusquely, her arm around a pale and shaken Gwen. "She's caught that bug that's been going around. Nasty thing – makes you sick to your stomach if you so much as think about food."

Lancelot rose out of his chair. "Is she… are you all right?"

"I…"

"Weren't you listening? I just told you she was sick. Come on then, let's get you upstairs."

"Thank you, but I can take care of her. Gwen, do you need me to carry you?"

Nessie scowled at him. "Not a damn thing wrong with her legs. Anyway, I'm not asking, I'm telling. You want to help? Fine. Go over to the apothecary and see if he's got any ginger root. There's a tea that'll fix her right up if I have the stuff to make it."

"All right," he agreed, relieved that she seemed to know what she was doing. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"I'll come with you," Gwaine offered.

Nessie shook her head, pointing a fat finger in his direction. " _You_ look like you're about to collapse from exhaustion. Take yourself a bath, clean all of that filth off of you, and then get some sleep."

Gwaine hesitated, then shrugged, flashing her a mischievous grin. "Hard to argue with a woman who wants you naked in bed."

"Off with you!"

It took Lancelot a few minutes to locate the apothecary, but once he did, there was plenty of ginger root to be had. Not knowing how much might be required, he purchased what seemed like a generous supply and then hurried back to the inn. Gwen had definitely been right in suggesting they stay here – having never been much of a healer himself, it unnerved him to think of what might've happened if she'd taken ill without anyone around to assist them.

He knocked quietly on the door; Nessie opened it and accepted the package, mumbling something about him trying to make tea for the entire village, then closed it in his face. It was another half an hour or so before she reappeared, admonishing him to be quiet before permitting him to enter the room.

When he stepped inside, Gwen was sleeping peacefully, dressed in a clean nightgown with one hand resting on her stomach and a small smile on her lips. He was relieved to see there was already some color back in her cheeks as he settled into a chair to keep watch over her. That, at least, was something he could do very well.

A couple hours later, she was back downstairs, insisting on a second helping of mutton stew and brushing him off when he asked her if that was a good idea. It seemed strange considering how ill she'd appeared to be that morning, but who was he to question a good thing?

Gwaine also looked better when he joined them for supper that evening, well rested and freshly scrubbed, dressed in one of Lancelot's shirts and a pair of his trousers. He'd lost weight, but seemed to be doing well enough... even better when Millie sauntered over to their table and asked what he'd be having.

"Food," he said casually. "Something to drink. Oh yes, and at least two helpings of whatever you're offering before the night is over."

Millie scowled down at him. "What if the only thing I'm offering is to slap that smug smile off your face?"

"I'll take it. Always did like it a bit rough."

He grinned as he watched her stalk away and then turned back to Lancelot, his expression suddenly serious. "Right. What I was about to tell you this morning, before…"

"Sorry about that," Gwen mumbled around a piece of bread.

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Did you get sick on purpose?"

"No, of course not."

"Nothing to apologize for then. Anyway, as I was saying, I heard from Merlin, who told me he'd found evidence that Elyan had been enchanted."

Lancelot stared at him for a moment. "I… that's wonderful news!"

"Not so fast. Whoever was responsible, it was cleverly done. No amulets laying around, no locks of hair or anything like that. He traced it back to an ordinary object – Elyan's cloak, of all things. You know how he never takes it off."

"Except when he's sleeping," Gwen said quietly.

"Except when he's sleeping," Gwaine echoed, "which must've been when the switch was made. Trouble is, there's no proving it. Merlin figured it out accidentally – touched his back and felt some sort of shock or something. But that only works for him because he has magic. To anyone else it's just an ordinary cloak."

"Can't Merlin just steal it?" Lancelot asked him. "Maybe when it's removed, Elyan will remember how he came to be that way in the first place."

Gwaine nodded. "That was my first thought, too. But you see, there's the problem."

"How?"

"Not the kind of thing that just disappears when he's not wearing it. Otherwise, the enchantment wouldn't have worked seeing as he takes it off every night. Merlin and Gaius figured out the spell – forget what it's called, some sort of compulsion thing. Seems it can take weeks to wear off even when the object is gone, sometimes months if the magic is strong enough. There are a few ways to break it immediately, but…"

"Has Merlin tried any?" Gwen interrupted.

"Here's where it gets messy," Gwaine said, pausing to take a long sip of ale. "He took the cloak first. Seems whoever is behind this was prepared for that, because Elyan disappeared the same night, no doubt under orders to do so if the cloak was ever removed from his possession. This was more than a month ago – last I heard, he hasn't been seen since."

"Oh…"

"Well, what about Arthur?" Lancelot suddenly said. "Elyan disappears without warning? Surely he has to find that suspicious."

Gwaine nodded emphatically. "Oh, he does. Believes his newest favorite was abducted right out from under his nose. Now I'm the first to say so when Arthur's being an idiot, but that isn't the case here. I wasn't joking when I told you this was cleverly done. Merlin said Elyan's room was in shambles, set up to look like someone had come in and grabbed him and he'd put up one hell of a fight."

"So unless he's found…"

"Unless he's found, there's no chance he'll be able to clear your name. But that's not all."

Gwen stared at him in disbelief. "Wh… what else?"

"Patrol schedules were stolen the same night, along with quite a few other documents dealing with Camelot's defenses."

"Elyan took them," Lancelot said quietly.

"Course he did. And of course, Arthur has every reason to think the abductors did it."

"Preparing for an assault on the kingdom, whoever it is."

"You're right about that," Gwaine said with a sigh. "No knowing when, where, or how big it's going to be either. Not a good time to be exiles, eh?"

Lancelot shook his head silently, then gave Gwen a reassuring smile, though it didn't seem to do much good. He understood the expression on her face all too well, being as it was exactly what he felt in his heart at that moment. Frustrated. Worried. Helpless. And so very, very far from home.

He leaned forward. "Is there anything we can do?"

"I don't see how… at least, not yet. No telling what will happen or how it'll change things for us when it does. For now, seems our only choice is to wait and see."

"The worst of all possible choices."

Gwaine nodded briefly. "Right you are, my friend."

* * *

Gwen was sipping her tea and managing to keep down the small amount of porridge she was eating when Millie came strolling in the next morning. Her dress was wrinkled, tangled red hair looking like it hadn't seen a brush in a week; she stretched luxuriously and then plopped down in the nearest chair.

"Can't even tell you the last time I was fucked like that. Going to have bruises later, no doubt about it."

Looking at her with wide eyes, Gwen said, "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

Millie smirked at her. "No more than I wanted him to."

"Oh… well, I'm glad you had a nice time."

"Always so prim and proper. Only you would refer to a mind blowing, toe curling fuck as a 'nice time'."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "Excuse me for having manners."

"So… did you tell him?"

"No. I was going to last night, but after everything Gwaine told us, it just didn't seem like the right time. He was frustrated. Restless. I don't know how much he actually slept, but I heard him pacing the floor a couple different times throughout the night."

Millie frowned. "What's going on?"

Gwen repeated most of what she'd heard, with the exception of anything that would expose Merlin's magic. "Someone's about to make war on Camelot. Someone very clever. Someone who knows our – their – biggest weaknesses and how to use them to their best advantage. And Lancelot, well… "

"No, you don't have to tell me. Feels a responsibility to help and hates that there's nothing he can do. Nothing new for him, and always takes it hard when it happens, no doubt about that. To tell you the truth, I think Gwaine's the same way. He's just a bit better at hiding it."

"I believe you're right."

"As usual," Millie said, giving her a wink. "Anyway, you've still got plenty of time. Or hell, just don't say anything at all and wait for him to figure it out for himself. Of course, that might be a problem – not always easy to tell the difference depending on how a woman carries, and he's far too polite to ask why you're getting so fat. He'll just wake up one morning with you having the baby right next to him, too busy screaming your head off to let him know what the hell is going on."

"Millie!"

"Yeah?"

Gwen shook her head with a rueful smile. "Forget it." She paused, taking another sip of tea before she spoke again. "I… I hadn't thought about that part of it."

"Pushing it out?"

"Um... yes. I wonder how much it hurts."

Millie let out a low whistle. "Had a woman once tell me she'd rather have her toenails pulled out with hot pincers than have to suffer through childbirth again. Or was it her fingernails? Might've been both."

"That's… reassuring."

"Isn't it just?"

* * *

Over the next three weeks, Lancelot and Gwaine vented their frustration through long hours of rigorous practice. From shortly after dawn until close to nightfall, the citizens of Oakview were subjected to the almost constant clashing of swords just at the edge of the woods, some of them even coming over to watch as two of the finest knights the kingdom of Camelot had ever seen proved themselves entirely worthy of that distinction.

Meanwhile, Gwen stayed inside, taking advantage of the opportunity to strip naked and examine herself from every possible angle each morning. Her body was definitely changing – she could feel it happening, though there wasn't much to see just yet unless someone knew what they were looking for.

She thought she was imagining things at first, but by the second week, she could no longer deny the slight swell she felt when she ran her hands over her belly. Her breasts were fuller, too, straining against the bodice of dresses that had once been a comfortable fit.

The sickness was becoming easier to control, at least. Only twice had she been forced to slip out of bed and retch quietly into the bowl Nessie had stashed underneath for that purpose, able to clean up and crawl back beneath the blankets without ever disturbing the man who was sleeping beside her.

She still hadn't told him. He was exhausted these days, only eating and bathing in the evenings before falling into bed, barely managing to kiss her goodnight before his eyes drifted closed. And while he sometimes roused himself early enough to push up her nightgown and slip inside her, it seemed as if he'd hardly finished before he was pulling on his boots again, ready to face another day of training.

No, she couldn't tell him yet, not when he was always so weary and sore, all of his focus on a battle that might never come to pass. Of course, she couldn't wait forever, but a few more days… another week… 

She was performing her usual ritual one morning, running her hands over her belly and turning this way and that, trying to decide if the gentle swell was just a little bit bigger than it had been the day before. Yes, it definitely was. Far from being noticeable under her heavy skirt, of course, but give it a few weeks and it would be hard to miss.

The door burst open as she stood naked in front of the mirror; she gasped, scrambling to cover herself and then sighing in relief when she recognized the flash of bright red hair.

"You could knock, you know," she said irritably.

Millie ignored her. "Drop that blanket. Let me see."

"I don't think… oh, all right." In truth, she was eager for a second opinion.

"Wow."

Gwen frowned, looking down at herself. "Is it that noticeable?"

"Well, your tits are bigger, and… yeah, you're starting to show. But it's not so bad yet, even when you're naked. Just looks like you've put on a little weight."

"I need to tell him."

"Yeah, you do," Millie agreed. "But first, you need to get dressed. It's a pretty day, and there are two attractive men sweating all over each other out there. Let's go watch them."

Other than Lancelot flashing her a quick smile when they arrived, the combatants seemed largely unaware of their presence after the first few minutes. They were stripped to the waist, muscled chests slick with perspiration as they clashed again and again beneath the morning sunlight. It soon became obvious that while they were both exceptional fighters, Gwaine had a slight advantage in terms of brute strength. But then again, he couldn't touch Lancelot for speed or grace of movement.

"You know," Millie leaned over to tell Gwen as they sat on the grass a short distance away. "That's the exact face he makes when he's about to shoot a load."

" _Millie!_ " she exclaimed, shaking her head in exasperation. But then she looked at Gwaine; his sword was locked with Lancelot's blade, face twisted in an exaggerated grimace as he let out a loud, almost animalistic grunt. Unable to help herself, she giggled.

"Fighting isn't so different from fucking, you know. Can figure out what kind of lover a man will be if you watch him come to blows, even if you've never had him between your thighs."

"I…" Gwen didn't know how to respond to that, so she studied the men instead. Millie had a point… Lancelot had that same look in his eyes whenever he made love to her, so intensely focused that it seemed nothing else in the world existed beyond what he was doing at that moment. He even moved in a similar way, carefully restrained at times, or swift and to the point as the situation demanded. As for the rest of it… the sounds he was making suddenly made her blush.

"Told you," Millie said pointedly.

She was about to agree when the light breeze changed direction, assaulting her nostrils with the strong, pungent odor of cow manure. Her stomach churned with nausea, and although she closed her eyes and tried to breathe more deeply, that only made her feel worse.

"I… oh, no… "

"Oh hell, I know that look. Come on then."

"Just get me somewhere out of sight," Gwen gasped as Millie guided her along.

"Here, we'll duck in the alley beside the baker's shop. Never liked that bitch anyway."

"I'm so tired of…" But she never got to finish the sentence, forced to brace her hands against the side of the building as she retched all over the ground.

"Forget your tea this morning?" Millie said pointedly.

"No, I had some. It helps, but I still occasionally… when I smell something like… oh lord…"

"That's right, get it out. Don't try to talk."

She'd just lowered her head again when she glimpsed a flash of crimson out of the corner of her eye, followed by a touch of gold that shimmered in the sunlight. There they were, three Knights of Camelot dismounting just a dozen or so paces away. They never noticed the pale, shaken woman in the alley, staring at them in horror as she moaned aloud, having no choice but to heave again before she could even speak.

" _Warn them!_ " she rasped at Millie a few seconds later, struggling against another wave of nausea as she fought to get the words out. "I… I'll be there as soon as I can."


	113. A Familiar Place

#  **Chapter 113: A Familiar Place**

* * *

"Where's Gwen?" Lancelot demanded.

"She's coming, just get in the woods and stay there!"

"But…"

Oh, Millie knew that look, and she _really_ wasn't in the mood for it. " _You're_ the one who's wanted for murder, not her! And I'm as safe as a kitten, so if anyone's going back to fetch her, it's me. Now get your ass in the woods before I drag you there myself!"

He blinked, looking a little stunned. "How do you know…?"

"Do you _really_ want to talk about this right now?"

Shaking his head, he finally let out a resigned sigh and followed Gwaine into the trees.

"Right then," she muttered to herself as she headed back toward the village. "What next?"

Gwen was still in the alley where she'd left her, though she was looking a little better than she had a few minutes before. At any rate, she wasn't retching all over the place… that had to be a good sign, right?

"Are they safe?" she whispered, her voice still hoarse.

"They're fine. Waiting in the woods for us."

"I was going to go back to the inn and gather some of our things, but that's where the knights went!"

Millie gave her a wry smile. "Bunch of travelers just coming into town? You don't say!"

"Don't make jokes, I… I'm scared."

"Ah, no need for that. Let's get you to the others, and I'll come back and gather up your personal effects."

Soon enough, Millie had delivered her into the arms of a relieved looking Lancelot, hurrying back to the inn with a determined expression on her face. Of course, there was the hope that the knights were just passing through, but she knew better, even before she strode inside and heard the conversation that was taking place.

"Nope, never heard of them," Nessie was saying in her best 'I'm not taking any of your shit' voice.

One of the knights peered at her suspiciously. "We've heard he has friends here."

"Well, then I can't help you. I don't have friends, just customers. Don't ask questions, don't know, don't care."

Millie sidled up beside her. "Who is it you're looking for? And may I ask why?"

"Lancelot, former Knight of Camelot," the oldest of the three men said in a stiff voice. "He's wanted for the murder of nine guards and our Chief Advisor, but our biggest concern at the moment is locating Sir Elyan. We believe Lancelot to be responsible for his abduction."

She looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. "My, he does stay busy, doesn't he?"

"Are you saying you know him?"

"She has no idea what she's talking about," Nessie cut in, giving her a sharp poke in the ribs. "A bit touched in the head, this one is."

"No, I do!" she exclaimed, flashing an appealing smile. "Dark hair, brown eyes, sort of quiet? Good with a sword?"

It was all she could do not to howl in pain as Nessie roughly pinched the soft underside of her arm.

"Sounds about right," one of the other knights said with a nod. "What can you tell us about him?"

"How much is it worth to you?"

All three of the guards looked surprised, but immediately started digging in the pockets of their trousers, dumping small handfuls of coins on the table. She swiftly counted what she saw, divided it in half, then pronounced, "Fifty gold, and I'll tell you everything I know."

"She don't know nothing," Nessie protested. "I told you, she…"

"We'll take it."

Millie nodded, scooping the money off the table and dropping it in her pocket. "All right then. He came through here a few months ago. Had a woman with him… pretty little thing with a head full of black curls. Stayed two, maybe three days. Heard him say they were headed south for the winter… somewhere in King Olaf's territory, I believe?"

Nessie's pinch was replaced by a pat of approval.

"We just paid you fifty damn…"

"You paid her to tell you what she knew and she did," Nessie butted in before Millie could speak. "If you'd expected her to tell you what you wanted to hear, should have said so. Now, can I get any of you something to eat? Drink? A room? Better start spending what you've got left on something, or I'll have to ask you to leave. These tables are for paying customers only."

They were all glowering at her, but the oldest one said, "Three tankards of mead. Three plates of whatever you've got, and yes… three rooms. We'll be staying the week."

Millie followed her into the kitchen a few minutes later, ostensibly to help prepare the food.

"Still suspicious. I can tell," Nessie muttered under her breath.

"So? Can't prove anything, especially since they're already hiding in the woods."

"They are? Good thing. Don't want any trouble around here."

Millie studied her for a long moment, trying to figure out how to explain the decision she'd made. "I just came back to gather a few of their things. Won't be safe for them to stay here anymore, even after that lot leaves."

"Certainly not."

"Um, I was thinking I might go with them."

Nessie gave her a sharp look. "You're still sweet on that man, aren't you? Remember how you moped around the last time he took off."

"Don't know what the hell you're talking about," Millie said uncomfortably, turning away to fiddle with a ladle that was sitting on the long wooden counter. "I just want to get away from here for a while. Do some traveling, you know."

"If you say so. Well, if you want to go, I'm not stopping you."

She wasn't good with this stuff – terrible at it, to be more accurate, but she had to try. "I wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me," she said awkwardly. "For giving me a chance, and…"

"Oh, don't start with that nonsense. Go upstairs and get those things together… no sense jabbering at me all night."

"I'll write as soon as I can."

"Do what you want. Makes no difference to me."

Millie turned and headed for the door, only to look back over her shoulder just as Nessie wiped a tear from her eye. She could've said something, but she didn't; smiling to herself a little sadly, she headed upstairs.

* * *

"That's the last of it," Millie announced, dropping a sack of clothing on the ground.

"Thank you," Gwen said somewhat drowsily, sitting up as she covered her mouth to suppress a huge yawn. It seemed odd that it was so easy to sleep during such a nerve-racking time, but she'd been dozing off and on all afternoon, listening to the low hum of conversation between Lancelot and Gwaine as they'd waited for their possessions.

"Plenty of food in this one over here. Couple jugs of wine as well."

Gwaine grinned at Millie. "Knew there was a reason I liked you."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "And here I was thinking it was all the filthy things I let you do to me."

He nodded, giving her a wink. "Well, that goes without saying. Especially when you…"

Lancelot cleared his throat abruptly. "Will we be able to get the horses?"

"I'll have to be careful, but I think I can do it. I'll be back."

She returned no more than an hour later wearing a triumphant grin, leading Lancelot and Gwaine's mounts along with a third. 

"One for me?" Gwen said in surprise, staring at the little black mare. "How did you get it?"

"Paid for it with some gold I got off of some unusually generous customers earlier. Got quite a bit left over to boot. But no, this one is for me. I'm coming with you."

"What about your home? Your work? Does Nessie know?"

Lancelot shook his head. "I'm not sure that's a good idea…"

"Sounds like a plan to me!" Gwaine interrupted them cheerfully. "Let's go."

There was no arguing with that, or maybe they just didn't have the energy to bother. The sun was beginning to set as they made their way down the narrow forest trail, with Gwen settled comfortably against Lancelot's chest while the others rode just behind. There was a moment of panic when he took the reins in one hand, bringing the other to rest on the slight swell of her stomach. But no, he was staring beyond her, obviously distracted as he searched for a place to make camp for the night.

"Think we've covered enough distance?" he called back to Gwaine.

"Eh, I'd say so. That spot up there to the right looks good; follow that stream a little ways and we'll be well off the path."

It was a couple hours after nightfall by the time they were finally settled, gathered around a cheery fire as Millie handed out a bit of bread and cheese. A jug of wine was passed around, but Gwen shook her head when it was held out to her, opting instead for a rather weak version of her tea. She'd felt fine since the unfortunate incident in the alley earlier that afternoon, but better to be on the safe side.

Lancelot frowned when he saw what she was drinking. "Are you still not feeling well?"

"I… ah, no, I'm fine. I've just taken a liking to it, that's all." She gave him a reassuring smile, accepting the arm he wrapped around her shoulders as she snuggled closer to his warmth. It might be spring now, but the nights were still chilly.

"So where are we going?" Millie asked, looking at each of them in turn.

"Ealdor," they all said in unison, grinning at each other as they did so.

"Ealdor? That's not far from here, is it?"

"Only about half a day's ride," Gwaine told her.

"What are we going there for? From what I've heard, it's just a few houses, maybe a couple of cows. Makes Oakview look like a proper city in comparison."

"You can always turn back if you don't want to come."

Gwen poked Lancelot in the side. "Don't be rude," she said under her breath.

"Sorry," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

"We have a friend there," Gwaine explained, accepting the jug of wine and raising it to his lips. "Merlin… well, his mother. He told us to go there if we needed a place to stay, and it seems like we do."

"Oh yeah," Millie said, reclining back on her elbows. "I've heard a few things about this Merlin, but that's neither here nor there. What are we supposed to do when we get there?"

"Wait."

"Wait? For what?"

Unable to help herself, Gwen yawned, letting her eyelids drift closed as the remainder of the conversation faded into the background. The next thing she knew, the fire had died down and Lancelot was whispering in her ear.

"Come on, let's get some sleep."

He spread a blanket on the soft grass, pulling another one over them as she curled up on her side to face him. She could see his eyes shining in the moonlight, still wide awake as he studied her face.

"I've been neglecting you lately," he said, reaching up to gently stroke her cheek. "I'm sorry for that, but I'll make it up to you soon. I promise."

She slid an arm around his waist, pulling him closer. "It's all right. There's been a lot going on."

"I know, but you're more important to me than anything else. You know that, don't you?"

The words were on the tip of her tongue, her hand already reaching up for his to press it to her belly as soon as she said it aloud. Yes, she had to tell him now… she was running out of time, and it wasn't like it was just going to go away, no matter what else might be happening.

"Lancelot, I'm…"

Just then, there was a low growl from across the clearing, followed by a giggle that trailed off into a soft little moan. Gwaine and Millie were quiet about it, much more so than she might have expected, but it was still obvious what they were doing. No... there was no way she was telling Lancelot she was with child with _that_ going on just a few paces away.

"You were saying?" he prompted her.

"Oh, I was just going to say that I'm still really tired. I'd like to get some sleep."

* * *

Lancelot woke her just as the sun was beginning to appear over the horizon, pressing soft, warm kisses to the side of her neck as his hand moved restlessly over her breasts. Trying to be discreet made it awkward at first, wiggling out of her undergarments beneath the blanket, skirts bunched up around her waist as he entered her with a smooth thrust followed by a muffled groan.

But then there was only quiet bliss as she buried her face against his shoulder, suppressing a whimper of pleasure each time he pushed into her, keeping the pace slow and gentle. The leisurely rhythm didn't change until he knew she was satisfied, lying fully relaxed beneath him as a few quick thrusts brought him to his own completion.

Now was the time to tell him... to whisper the words while she held him in the aftermath, tenderly stroking his hair as he let out a soft sigh of contentment.

She would have if Gwaine hadn't chosen that exact moment to wake up, standing and stretching his arms over his head before realizing he was still naked, then fumbling around for his trousers.

Before Gwen knew it, they were on the road again, only this time, she wasn't feeling so comfortable as the horse swayed endlessly beneath her. Calling a halt with the excuse that she had to relieve herself, she stumbled off into the bushes to bring up her meager breakfast, managing to do so almost silently before washing her face and returning to the others with a casual smile pasted on her lips.

She was getting far too good at hiding her bouts of sickness; even Lancelot didn't seem to suspect that anything was amiss.

That was the only time she actually had to retch, fortunately, though the nausea stayed with her throughout the rest of the journey. But then she forgot all about it when she looked up and spotted Ealdor in the distance.

They were home… or close enough, at least.

* * *

Lancelot liked Hunith immediately, a sweet, soft-spoken woman with gentle eyes. She didn't ask questions, but then again, she had no need to… she already knew a great deal about them thanks to Merlin, and they'd filled her in on the rest by the time they'd finished the small yet satisfying meal she'd managed to scrape together for them. There was never any judgment in her expression no matter what was said, only understanding nods and soft murmurs of sympathy.

She was also extremely efficient – less than an hour later, they'd all been assigned to individual chores to help her with the dilemma of having four extra mouths to feed. Gwaine was sent off into the woods to hunt… or to slaughter a couple of chickens if there was no game to be found. Gwen was asked to gather vegetables from the garden, while Millie was given the job of retrieving fresh water. Meanwhile, Lancelot had the task of chopping firewood, carrying it inside by the armload until she decided it was enough.

"I'll go see what I can do to help Gwen," he told her, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. But she stopped him before he could leave, guiding him to a chair and placing a cup of cool water in front of him.

"She'll be fine. I made a point of giving her the least strenuous task."

"Oh," he said, taking a moment to quench his thirst. "Thank you. She has been seeming a little tired lately."

"I imagine she has," Hunith agreed, "especially with all the excitement going on. But what about you? Do you feel prepared?"

Lancelot frowned in confusion. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Well, it's a big change. Your lives will never be quite the same."

"Oh, the betrothal!" He nodded, smiling at her across the table. "Gwen must've told you. Yes, I'm ready to be married. I have been since long before I asked her, to be honest. I'm not sure how to go about actually doing such things, but once I figure that out, I'd like for it to happen as soon as possible."

"She hasn't…?" Hunith gave him the strangest look, but it was immediately forgotten when he heard her next words. "Well, having it done is no trouble. Any village elder can perform a handfasting, as long as you're willing to pay a small fee for the service."

"Is there someone here who can do it?"

* * *

It all happened so fast that Gwen wasn't sure how she'd come to be standing in the pretty little meadow just before sunset, waiting for her wedding to take place. She was clad in soft pink cotton with her dark curls hanging loose down her back, interwoven with fresh white blossoms. Fidgeting nervously, she gazed at the handful of people who were gathered around her... Gwaine, Hunith, Millie, along with several other faces she didn't recognize.

The past week had been a blur, starting from the moment Lancelot had invited her to go for a walk, then knelt at her feet and asked her to become his wife. She'd been confused at first – hadn't they already been through this? But then she'd realized it was no longer some distant dream. Lancelot had figured out how to make it happen and was eager to go through with it as soon as possible.

In truth, she completely agreed. The love she felt for him had already been reason enough, of course, but facing an uncertain future with a baby swiftly growing inside her made it all that much more appealing. More than anything, she just wanted some sense of stability, something permanent in a world that was far too unpredictable for her liking.

Lancelot still didn't know about her condition, of course, though she hadn't had time to worry about that lately. Everything had been a flurry of activity – preparing food and choosing a location, selecting people to stand witness and figuring out what she was going to wear. Even at night, she'd had little chance to speak with him; some lingering sense of propriety had insisted she should sleep with Millie, while he'd bedded down with Gwaine in the other room of Hunith's tiny home.

She felt like she hadn't even had time to breathe… until she saw him walking toward her, perfectly dressed and groomed, so handsome that she let out a long sigh of appreciation.

Yes, overwhelmed or not, this was exactly what she wanted.

He looked awestruck as his eyes moved over her, almost as if he couldn't believe his good fortune. And then their hands were bound together and some words were spoken… she'd never remember much of anything beyond giving her assent for the elderly woman to proceed with the ceremony, followed by repeating vows about love and fidelity, honor and commitment and then hearing them echoed back to her in Lancelot's rich, deep voice.

By the time it was over, she was stunned, struggling to wrap her mind around the idea that she was actually married… a _wife_ , with a husband who was beaming at her as he took her by the hand and led her into the trees.


	114. Wedding Night

#  **Chapter 114: Wedding Night**

* * *

"Wow…" Gwen breathed as Lancelot's arms came around her from behind. "Who did all this?"

"I don't know, but I'm glad they did."

The dense forest had given way to a small clearing, lush and green, sheltered by a profusion of flowering vines that hung from the surrounding trees. Several blankets were spread out over the grass, piled with cushions that were sprinkled with delicate white petals. There was a large basket of food with a handful of candles lying beside it, but there was no need to light them; the full moon hung low in the sky, illuminating the lovely scene with its gentle glow.

"I've been dreaming of this," he said softly, sweeping her hair aside to nuzzle her neck. She smelled delicious – a heady combination of honeysuckle and spices along with the sweet, subtle scent that belonged only to her. "It seems like forever since we..."

"I know." She turned to face him, laying her head on his chest.

In truth, he could hardly remember the last time he'd made love to her properly. Not here in Ealdor – the cramped arrangements would've made it difficult even if they hadn't been sleeping apart. They'd been together once on the way here, of course, but as enjoyable as that had been, shoving her skirts up after a few hasty kisses was not his idea of pleasuring her the way she deserved.

At least that had been a matter of discretion, however, which couldn't be said for their last few weeks in Oakview. Exhausted from his relentless training, he'd done nothing more than push up her nightgown a few times, slipping inside her while he'd still been too out of it to manage more than a bit of drowsy thrusting. She'd seemed satisfied afterwards, but would she have told him if she wasn't?

Shameful. He hadn't even lain naked with her since there'd been snow on the ground, nor had he taken the time to please her in other ways. Perhaps he should apologize? No, it would be better to show her how he felt than struggle to find the words to justify his lack of attentiveness.

"Come with me," he told her quietly, taking her by the hand and leading her to the blankets.

When she'd settled herself on the ground, he removed her shoes and stockings, setting them aside before taking her feet in his lap. She let out a blissful sigh, laying back against the pillows as he kneaded the delicate arches, heels and toes until he could no longer feel even a trace of tension. Smiling to himself, he moved up to her lower legs, running his fingers across the faint silver scars before giving them the same treatment.

"Does that feel good?"

"Mmmm…"

By the time he was finished, her eyes had drifted closed, her body completely relaxed as he removed his boots and stretched out beside her. Reminding himself to take it slow, he kissed her without a hint of urgency, touching her face and stroking her hair as she murmured her approval and pulled him closer in response.

But restraint proved to be much more of a challenge when her kisses grew more passionate, her soft hands sliding beneath his shirt to caress his bare skin. He took it off in response to her unspoken demand, groaning low in his throat when the restless exploration of his back and chest was abandoned in favor of her fingers tugging at the laces of his trousers.

"Do you want them off?" he whispered, breathing into her ear in a way that always made her shiver in response. Not that he needed to ask, of course, but there was nothing he loved more than hearing her put her desire into words.

"I want to touch you."

Responding with a fierce kiss, he stripped off the rest of his clothing and stretched out on the ground again, happy to let her have her way with him for the time being. His eyes fell closed as her warm lips moved across his chest and down his stomach, her fingers wrapping around him and sliding up and down in a slow, sensuous rhythm. It felt too good to resist the need that was swiftly building inside him, which was why he had to put an end to it.

"Gwen…"

But then she took him into her mouth, enveloping his hardness in velvety wet heat, and there was nothing to do but let his head fall back as he let out a helpless grunt of pleasure. He gazed up at the stars, stroking her soft curls as the tension coiled within him, blocking out all other thought aside from his swiftly approaching release. Close, so close…

And then the heat was gone.

It was a good thing she stopped when she did; he was right on the brink, unable to suppress a groan of frustration when she pulled away. What was she doing? He watched with a hazy sort of confusion as she rose to her feet, wiggling out of her undergarments before moving to straddle his hips.

"No." He shook his head, gently pushing her arms to her sides when she would've reached beneath her skirt to guide him inside her. "Not like that. I want to see you."

"Lancelot, I need to…"

"I know what you need," he whispered in a husky voice.

In a flash, she was on her back with him poised above her, his fingers swiftly untying the ribbons that held her bodice together. He kissed her almost savagely, swallowing her gasp of surprise as his hand slipped inside the front of her dress, caressing her breasts with a callused palm before dipping his head to taste them.

"Lancelot, you…" she breathed as he pushed her skirt up, stroking the silky skin of her inner thighs as they fell apart beneath his touch.

He'd brought her to completion once before deciding he couldn't take it anymore, withdrawing the hand that was buried between her legs so he could pull her dress down over her shoulders.

"I need to…" she panted, obviously struggling for control even as she raised her hips so he could free her from the confining fabric. "Before you see me…"

But she never had a chance to finish before she was lying naked beneath him, searching his face almost anxiously as his eyes blazed a slow trail down the length of her body. It was then that he understood what she'd been trying to say – she'd put on a little weight and was obviously worried he'd find it unappealing.

Well, he could certainly put her mind to rest where that was concerned, being as she was and always would be the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He wouldn't make her feel self-conscious by telling her it was only natural following so much rich food and a long winter of inactivity. No, better to show her how he felt, to worship the curves of her slightly fuller hips before moving up to caress breasts that indeed felt more heavy in his hands.

Meanwhile, she was still watching him with that wary look in her eyes, letting out a sharp gasp as he began kissing his way across her abdomen. Silly for her to be concerned... while her stomach wasn't so flat anymore, it was perfect simply because it was a part of her.

"Lancelot, I…"

"It's all right," he murmured, drunk with desire as he settled himself between her legs again, his tongue darting out to tease her sensitive flesh for a moment before he continued. "I like it."

"L… like what?"

It seemed she was going to make him say it after all. "The weight," he told her, raising his head to look at her face. "It's very... mmm..."

To his surprise, she burst out laughing.

"Why is that funny?"

She hesitated. "Um, I'll explain later. Just keep doing… ohhh…"

Her head fell back and no more words were spoken, both surrendering to the need that was swiftly rising between them. Taking an inordinate amount of time to satisfy her with his hands and mouth, Lancelot was nearly out of his mind with wanting by the time he rose between her thighs and pushed himself inside her.

It was a desperate, frantic thing, driving into her like a man who'd been denied such pleasures for years beyond counting. Again and again, he slid into her slick wet heat, some distant part of him hoping they were far enough away that no one would hear the loud, helpless groans he couldn't seem to stifle as he neared his release.

The expression on her face was what finally pushed him over the edge, her lovely features slack with pleasure as she arched her back and shuddered beneath him. She whimpered his name, soft and tremulous, and he was lost, letting out a hoarse cry in response as ecstasy flooded through his body. And then it was over; he went limp, slumping against her as she wrapped her arms around him and held him close against her pounding heart.

Everything was hazy after that, both spent in the aftermath of a passion that had been restrained for far too long. By the time his breathing had returned to normal, he was lying on his side with her nestled against his chest, stroking her back with lazy fingers as he closed his eyes in drowsy contentment.

This was his wife he was holding in his arms, his and his alone for the rest of his days. Suddenly overwhelmed by that realization, Lancelot wanted to tell her everything that was in his heart, to somehow make her understand how much she meant to him. But the moment was too perfect already, requiring nothing more than her body pressed against his and the soft whisper of her breath in his ear. How could words do it justice?

"Gwen, I…"

"I know," she murmured, snuggling closer as she buried her face against his neck. "I love you, too."

* * *

"Lancelot?" Gwen called a few minutes later, receiving only a soft snore in response.

Damn, she'd waited too long. Tonight had been the perfect opportunity and she'd blown it again. She could've told him when they'd first arrived, or when he'd massaged her feet without even a hint of urgency. She could've told him right after they'd made love, knowing all too well that she'd only had a few minutes before he would drift off to sleep.

She could've told him anytime, really, but the longer it took her to say the words out loud, the harder it seemed to be.

Why?

Uncertainty was a big part of it. They didn't have a home or steady work, and there was no way of knowing if it would be safe to settle anywhere until he'd been cleared of the charges against him. If there were any hope of that happening, when would it be? Where would they go? Would they stay here, or…?

Beyond that, they'd never spoken about having children… was that something Lancelot wanted? No doubt he'd stand by her regardless, but what if it made him miserable to be burdened with a child on top of everything else?

She'd been both frightened and hopeful that he'd see it when he'd undressed her earlier that night, saving her the trouble of an increasingly difficult confession. Unfortunately, he'd assumed she was just gaining weight. It was still natural to come to that conclusion – although there was a definite swell to her belly now, it was still in proportion with her larger breasts and the slight thickening of her hips.

But that wouldn't last. She was growing bigger each day, and soon enough, not even corsets and heavy skirts would hide her condition. Nine months of pregnancy, and by her estimation, more than four of those were already gone. It was early May; by the end of summer, she'd be heavy with a child she'd be giving birth to sometime in late September or early October unless her calculations were off.

It was all happening too fast, and poor Lancelot would have even less time to get used to the idea than she did. But then again, he wouldn't be the one who'd have to endure the pain of bringing it into the world either, so perhaps it was an even trade.

Gwen resigned herself to the inevitable as she drifted off to sleep, determined to push away her lingering fears. Maybe he'd be happy about it like she was underneath all the uncertainty, seeing it as a blessing rather than yet another complication amidst so much turmoil.

Either way, she'd know for sure in the morning.

* * *

"Mmmmm…"

She awoke to Lancelot's sleepy hum of contentment in her ear, his warm hand caressing her breasts, hips, and stomach as his hardness nudged against her from behind. Yes, she would tell him, but first… she switched their positions, pushing him onto his back and then lowering herself onto him with a low moan of pleasure.

Bracing her hands on his chest, she rode him slowly, almost lazily, soon lost to the pleasure that was building inside her. He gazed up at her in rapt fascination, his husky groan mingling with her soft whimper as her hands slid up to touch her breasts.

"Yes," he whispered, like he always did whenever she pleasured herself. She'd quickly learned it was among his biggest weaknesses… one she decided to take advantage of as she leaned back against his bent legs and slid a hand between her thighs.

Groaning in encouragement, he propped himself up on his elbows to watch, the intensity in his eyes making her shiver as she increased the movements of her hips in time with her feverish caresses. It didn't take long; one sharp gasp and she was over the edge, gripping her thighs to steady herself as the climax flooded through her body.

She let him handle the rest, relaxing against his chest as he lay flat on the ground again and reached down to grab her around the waist. A few swift, hard thrusts and he fell apart, holding her close as he pulsed inside her with a grunt of satisfaction.

Giving herself a few minutes to recover, she lay quietly in his arms as they each remembered how to breathe again. But then she sat up, knowing she wanted to tell him while he was still like this, so full of contentment that it seemed as if nothing in the world could perturb him. Reaching for his hands, she held them in her own, anticipating the change in his expression when she pressed them to her belly.

But first, she needed to tell him.

Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she said, "How do you feel about…? I mean, would you mind if we had…?"

"What is it?" he said gently, reaching up to touch her face. "You can tell me."

"Lancelot, I'm…"

She never got to finish.

* * *

Gwaine tried to be as loud as possible with his approach, crashing through the bushes like a clumsy animal before emerging from the trees. But there they were again – naked as the day they were born, completely oblivious to his presence.

Lancelot was lying flat on his back with Gwen straddling his hips, each gazing at the other so intently that they didn't even hear him when he let out a gasp, his jaw slack with disbelief.

It wasn't that they were naked, or even that Lancelot was still inside her – hell, not like he hadn't seen _that_ before. No, it was the swell of her belly, still subtle, yet obvious enough to a man who'd bedded a few pregnant women over the years.

Oh hell, this was one complication they didn't need, not with what was waiting for them back in Ealdor. Speaking of that, probably best to stop gawking and let them know what was going on.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," he called, keeping his voice as casual as he could manage.

There was a gasp of shock followed by a "good lord!" and then he presented them with his back, smirking to himself as he listened to them scrambling for their clothes.

"Gwaine, what are you doing here?" Lancelot said a few minutes later, sounding much more collected as well as a fair bit irritated. "I told you we'd be returning this afternoon."

"Can I turn around now? All right, good. First, look up at the sky – it's afternoon already. Second, I would've been happy to leave you two alone, but unfortunately, we have a bit of a situation on our hands… one that can't wait."

"What is it?" Gwen asked him nervously as she fumbled with the laces of her bodice.

He sucked in a deep breath, knowing there was no way to say it without shocking the hell out of both of them.

"Arthur's here."


	115. The Defining Moment

#  **Chapter 115: The Defining Moment**

* * *

"The horses!" Lancelot hissed, jerking on one boot and then the other before rising to his feet.

Gwaine frowned in mock confusion. "What about them?"

"Can she bring them to us?"

"Who?"

_"Millie!"_

Raising a quizzical eyebrow, Gwaine asked, "Where exactly were you planning on going?"

"I don't know," Lancelot muttered, staring beyond him as if he expected Arthur and a troop of furious knights to come bursting through the trees at any moment. "Somewhere... anywhere but here."

Meanwhile, Gwen was still seated on the ground, the bodice of her dress gaping open as she clung to the loose ribbons with white knuckled fists. "How did he find us?" she whispered in a shaky voice. "I thought we'd be safe in Ealdor."

All right, they were both scared out of their wits. Enough fooling around.

Gwaine let out a heavy sigh, sinking down onto the blanket next to Gwen and giving her a gentle but pointed nudge with his elbow to remind her what she'd been doing before she'd frozen in shock.

"Oh," she said softly, her cheeks turning red as she laced herself up with trembling hands.

There, that was better. Not that he wasn't used to seeing her in various states of undress by now, but he couldn't help being distracted by a nice pair of tits either. It would be a fair bit easier to explain this mess without having to force himself to stare at the ground the entire time.

"Arthur didn't come here to capture anyone," he reassured them, rummaging in the previously unopened basket to see if he could find some refreshments. "You're in no danger. Bread, cheese… oh, wonderful," he said as he withdrew a bottle of wine. "May I?"

"What exactly is going on?" Lancelot demanded tersely. "Is this a joke?"

"Afraid not, my friend. Come sit down and I'll tell you everything."

* * *

Gwen sat in stunned silence as Gwaine described the events of the previous few days as related to him by Merlin. The city of Camelot had fallen under siege, stormed by a large army of Southrons intent on usurping the throne for their leader. No one had seen it coming; it had been an easy thing for the conquering foe to march right through the gates, particularly when they'd had commanders who'd known how to lower the defenses beforehand.

All Arthur had been able to do was watch in horrified disbelief as Morgana had claimed the city for her own, commandeering the Citadel with Agravaine on one side and someone named Helios on the other, along with a stonefaced Elyan bringing up the rear. The battle that had ensued had been fought in vain; Camelot's forces had been severely outnumbered, further crippled by the use of magic by the opposition.

While Arthur had had every intention of fighting to the death, as was to be expected, Merlin had somehow managed to smuggle him out of the city before his presence had been discovered.

"And that's when they came here," Gwaine mumbled around a bit of cheese. "Just the two of them. How Merlin was able to get him to leave in the first place, not to mention covering so much ground with him being injured and all, I'll never know."

"So what's the plan?" Lancelot asked him, accepting the bottle of wine that was passed his way.

"I don't know. Doesn't seem like they do either, but at least they have a safe place to figure it out. Arthur should probably take a few days to recover before he does anything, if you ask me. Looks pretty banged up."

"This isn't a safe place," Gwen said quietly.

Both of them stared at her for a moment before Lancelot asked, "Why do you say that?"

"We came here once, years ago. It was me, along with Arthur, Merlin, and Morgana. This was long before she…"

"Turned into a bloodthirsty magic wielding lunatic?" Gwaine helpfully supplied.

She suppressed a small smile. "We came here to help the villagers… they were being terrorized by a group of bandits. She and I convinced Arthur to let the women fight alongside the men. I… I haven't thought about that in ages. She was so different then, I still don't understand what happened…"

Neither of them expected her to burst into tears, but then again, neither did she. It seemed to happen without warning these days, often at the worst possible times.

"It's all right," Lancelot said softly, pulling her into his arms. "Please don't cry. She isn't worth your grief."

"She used to be," Gwen said, sniffling against his chest. "Anyway, my point is that she knows Merlin has family here. If she's trying to find Arthur, this is the first place she'll look."

"Might have a point about that," Gwaine said somberly. "Probably worth mentioning when we talk to them."

"We?" Gwen echoed. "But I can't… and Lancelot…"

"He knows Lancelot was innocent. Kind of difficult to accuse someone of murdering a man who's very much alive."

"Yes, that's wonderful… not the way it happened, but... well, what about the rest of it?"

"He's still not thrilled about what happened with the two of you, but it's not like he's going to have the guards dragging you off to the dungeon anytime soon. Of course, probably helps that neither of those things are at his disposal at the moment. Sort of the upside to all of this."

"Gwaine…"

He gave Lancelot a brief nod. "Yeah, sorry. Anyway, that's exactly my point. He needs all the help he can get right now, even if he decides to be a stubborn ass about accepting it. So it looks like you have two choices here. If you don't want to deal with it, you can go back to Oakview or even just stay out here until they leave. Nothing stopping you now that Lancelot's name is cleared, and I'll get your things if you don't want to see him."

"And the other choice?" Lancelot asked quietly.

"… or you can come back with me and we'll see what we can do to help Camelot out of this mess."

With that, Gwen understood they were at a crossroads that would shape the rest of their lives… and it seemed the decision was entirely in her hands as Lancelot waited for her to speak.

She knew he'd go with her without hesitation if she wanted to leave, even if that meant closing the door on the past while knowing there'd never be another chance to open it again. They'd settle down somewhere and live peacefully enough; he'd find work and they'd raise the child he still didn't know about.

Perhaps they'd even be happy.

But if she made that choice, a part of him would be lost forever. Dreams of honor and glory would fade away, replaced by a bittersweet resignation he'd never acknowledge out of fear she might think he regretted choosing her over his knighthood. Sooner or later, he'd start sleeping in well past dawn rather than going out to train, and she'd no longer see that sparkle in his eyes that only ever existed in a man who was doing exactly what he'd been born to do.

Title or not, Lancelot was a knight through and through. He might be able to adapt to the life of a farmer or merchant, carpenter or blacksmith, but he'd never be truly alive that way. He was meant to have a sword in his hand, to raise it in the defense of everything he held dear whenever the need should arise. Anything else was just, well… _wrong_. It was as simple as that.

Meanwhile, what about her? She'd adjusted fairly well to exile, and of course, her talents as a seamstress and other practical experience meant she could find work just about anywhere. But even for her, there was the ever present feeling that something wasn't right, as if she'd never completely fit in anywhere other than the beloved city she'd been forced to abandon. She'd had her own dreams, after all, a sense of purpose that could not exist outside of Camelot's walls.

It was difficult to hope Arthur would forgive them for the heartbreak and humiliation he'd suffered, or that they'd ever be allowed to return home for good. But even if they were only given this one last chance to come to the defense of the kingdom they both cherished, how could she turn her back on it?

"Let's go speak to Arthur," she said firmly, smiling at Lancelot when he let out a sigh of relief. "He might not accept our help, but we can always try."

"Erm, just a minute there," Gwaine interrupted as they rose to their feet. "There's a few things Arthur doesn't know. Seemed best not to tell him that the two of you were married, or that you'd been out here enjoying your wedding night. Didn't want to rub it in his face, you know."

Lancelot nodded. "Probably wise under the circumstances. What did you tell him instead?"

"Hunith said you were out hunting while Gwen was off somewhere gathering berries."

" _Hunith?_ " Gwen stared at him in amazement.

Gwaine nodded, kneeling down to rummage through the basket again as he spoke. "Think about it. She's the woman who raised Merlin, after all. Pretty sure she's used to coming up with handy excuses for all sorts of things when put on the spot."

"I never thought of that."

"But he's going to know I wasn't out hunting," Lancelot pointed out. "It's not like I have any fresh game to bring back with me."

"Ah, no need to worry – Millie took care of that one for you. Kept going on and on about what a miserable hunter you are and how she nearly starved to death when you were traveling before. No doubt she's already prepared some sharp little barbs for when you come back empty-handed."

Lancelot scowled at him. "I'm not half as bad as I used to be."

"If you say so. Anyway, you head on back and we'll be along shortly. Just tell them you haven't seen us, all right?"

The fear in Lancelot's eyes was impossible to miss, but he never hesitated. One soft kiss for Gwen and he was gone… back to Ealdor to face the man he'd last seen at the other end of a sword.

* * *

"Alone at last," Gwaine said a few minutes later, giving Gwen a sly little wink. "Let's see… this will work. Here."

She frowned in confusion as he withdrew a smaller basket from the larger one. "Strawberries, what…? Oh! Yes, that's perfect."

"Want to finish up the rest of this food while we're waiting? Probably do you good to get something in your stomach, and no sense in letting it go to waste."

Gwen shook her head, swallowing hard as he pulled out a large chunk of dried meat and began tearing it into strips. She'd already been feeling a little queasy, and when the smell of cured beef hit her, the battle was lost.

"I... ah, pardon me…"

She was retching in the bushes when he came up behind her, pulling her hair away from her face and rubbing her back in gentle, if somewhat clumsy circles. "Sorry about that," he said quietly. "Figured you were past this part of it by now. But if it's any consolation, you should be soon enough."

"I… how did you know?" she managed to ask, still panting as she turned around to face him.

"Saw you without your clothes on this morning, remember?"

Swallowing her embarrassment, she gave him a rueful smile. "I thought it wasn't that noticeable yet. Lancelot just thinks I've put on a little weight."

"Expect he does. Most men would assume that if they didn't have any experience with this sort of thing. Just so happens that I do."

"How?" she asked him curiously. "Wait, nevermind. I probably don't want to know."

He gave her a devilish smirk before his expression grew serious again. "Even Lancelot won't be able to miss it after a few more weeks though. How far along are you?"

"Um, more than four months, but definitely less than five. I'm not quite sure."

"Damn, bit further than I thought. Any reason you haven't told him yet?"

Gwen bit her lip and looked away. "I've tried, but it never seems like the right time, or something interrupts me before I can say it. I just…"

"You're scared," he said matter-of-factly.

"I… yes."

"Suppose that's understandable."

"We don't even have a place to live," she said in a rush. "And until just a little while ago, there was no way of knowing if we'd have to run again, or… I just didn't want him to worry about this on top of everything else, thought maybe things might settle down a bit and then…"

Gwaine chuckled, shaking his head. "That baby's coming either way. Nothing you can do about that. Best to give him as much time as possible to get used to the idea."

"I know, I just…"

"Come on, this is _Lancelot_ we're talking about here. Do you really think he's going to be unhappy about you having a baby? Hell, he'll be thrilled! Perfectly good excuse to be overprotective to the point of madness? Fussing over you all the time, asking you how you're feeling every five minutes? Not letting you do a damn thing for yourself? He lives for this sort of thing."

Unable to help herself, Gwen giggled. "He's going to be awful, isn't he?"

"Downright insufferable. No doubt about that."

"I… you're not going to tell him, are you?"

He took her by the arm, escorting her back to the blankets where he picked up the basket of strawberries and placed it in her hands. "Nah, not my secret to tell. Just make sure you do it soon, eh?"

* * *

"Merlin, can you leave us alone?"

"Of course," the servant said as he departed, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

"Lancelot? Come closer."

Raising his head to meet Arthur's dull stare was one of the most difficult things Lancelot had ever done. The king's eyes were vulnerable in a way that left him feeling positively gutted, filled with pain, sadness, despair, and a trace of lingering resentment underneath it all. Clad in nothing but simple trousers, he was lying on the narrow bed with a thick bandage swathed around his midsection.

"Sire, I…"

"Don't call me that. I'm hardly a king anymore… if I ever was one to begin with. Sit down."

Obediently, Lancelot dropped into the chair at his bedside, fighting the urge to fidget as the other man remained silent for several long minutes.

"You betrayed me."

"Yes. But you must know that was never my intention. I'm sorry, I…"

Arthur let out a heavy sigh. "I betrayed you, too. Everyone, but you in particular."

"I don't understand."

"You nearly died as a result of my poor judgment, and you've been forced to live your life on the run ever since. Don't misunderstand – I may never be able to forgive you and Guinevere for what you did to me. But that doesn't mean you deserved… I was supposed to be a king, Lancelot, one who ruled with justice and mercy. Instead, I let Agravaine manipulate me at every turn, embracing him as a friend while he did everything in his power to destroy my kingdom. He was in league with Morgana the entire time, did you know that?"

"I… I can't say I'm surprised."

Arthur leaned forward, wincing as he did so. "I'm not either. That's the worst part about this. Deep down, I _knew_ something wasn't right. There were times when he'd try to lead me in one direction or the other and I'd wonder at his motivations. But I decided to ignore my own doubts, to defend him when others brought his behavior under question. I wanted to think the best of him, I…"

"That's understandable," Lancelot said quietly. "He was your uncle. Your family."

"That doesn't excuse it. Hell, it makes it worse! Everyone around me, people I've trusted for _years_ , I disregarded their advice in favor of a man who appeared from out of nowhere. All because we were connected by blood… because my father was slipping away and I was afraid to stand on my own. That's what it really is, Lancelot. I'm a coward. And you and so many others have suffered because…"

"Whatever you are, Arthur, you could never be a coward."

The king let out a humorless chuckle. "All right, maybe not in some ways. Hell, I've never backed down from a fight. But the rest of it…"

"Your people have faith in you. They always have. You just have to have faith in yourself."

"Hundreds of my people are already dead," Arthur said flatly. "The rest have lost their homes, their crops, their livelihood. Tell me how I'm supposed to have faith in myself in light of that?"

Lancelot gazed at him for a long moment. "By refusing to give up, no matter what has happened. Knowing that even if you don't always get it right, you'll never turn your back on the kingdom, never stop trying to make things better for those who look to you for hope and for courage."

"I used to believe that too."

"And now?"

"I'm starting to think they'd be better off without me."

"Arthur…"

But Lancelot was interrupted as Merlin poked his head inside the door. "Sorry, Arthur, but you told me to let you know as soon as Gwen returned. She's waiting just outside."

"All right, I suppose I'll see her now. Lancelot, we'll talk more later."

"Yes, sire." He rose to leave, finding a strange sort of comfort in the fact that this time, Arthur didn't bother to correct the way he'd addressed him.


	116. Clearing the Air

#  **Chapter 116: Clearing the Air**

* * *

"You look different."

Gwen touched her waist length braid, fiddling with the loose curls around her face before smoothing her hands over her dress. She'd changed before coming to see Arthur, choosing an airy confection of soft white linen with tiny yellow flowers embroidered across the heart-shaped neckline. The light colors flattered her dark hair and tawny skin, but that wasn't why she'd chosen it. Her reasoning was far more practical – it was the loosest, most comfortable dress she owned.

_You look different._

How did Arthur mean that, exactly? Was he saying she looked better? Worse? Did he somehow realize she was carrying a child, even though the gentle swell of her belly was hidden beneath her flowing skirt? Or had he said it simply because it was something to say?

"I know," she said softly, deciding that 'thank you' would be rather presumptuous on her part.

"You look… happy."

Was she supposed to agree with that? How could she without it being a slap in the face?

"I've been getting on well enough," she finally told him after an awkward pause.

"He's been taking good care of you? Wait, nevermind. Stupid question. I just don't know how…"

He was staring directly at her stomach, which made her panic for a minute before she realized he was simply trying to avoid looking at her face.

"May I sit down?"

"Oh... of course."

"Arthur, I want you to know that I'm sorry. I… I never meant to hurt you."

He let out a weary sigh. "You never got over him, did you? Even when he was gone, all those years…"

She was already crying. Damn it. 

"I thought I did. Honestly, if I had ever believed he was going to come back or that I'd still feel… I would've never gotten involved with you."

"Did you _ever_ love me, Guinevere?"

"Of course I did! I still do and I always will. Arthur…"

"But it isn't the same as what you feel for him. It never was." The words were dull and lifeless as he turned his face away.

"No," she said in a subdued voice. "But that doesn't mean it matters any less to me. Or that I don't regret what I did to you."

"Why didn't you just tell me the truth? I wouldn't have been happy, but it sure as hell would've been a lot easier than being publicly humiliated. Finding out on the morning of our wedding that you'd been betraying me for years? Do you have any idea what that did to me?"

"No, not years. Nothing close to that. And the only reason I didn't tell you was because it wasn't the right time. You needed me, and…"

"Why is that, exactly?" he asked her coldly.

"Because of Agravaine."

"What does he have to do with any of this?"

Even after all this time, she wanted to shelter him, to make excuses and shield him from the truth. But no… that wouldn't be doing him any favors. After all, that was how this whole unfortunate mess had happened to begin with.

"He was controlling you, Arthur. We were all frightened – nobody knew how far he'd push you or what he might be planning to do. I just felt it would be better to stay with you for the time being, to see what I could do to lessen his influence over you. I'm sorry, I know it's terrible to just say it like that, but… well, you've always listened to me, and…"

"So you stayed around to be my conscience, not my wife. Well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I can't even completely fault you for that part of it considering what he's done. But what I _don't_ understand is why you agreed to marry me if that wasn't what you wanted. Or why you couldn't have found _some_ way to get out of it without making me into a public spectacle. I would've never thought you were capable of something so cruel."

Gwen took a deep breath. "You don't understand…"

" _Then make me understand, damn it!_ Because I've had enough of people hiding the truth from me to last a lifetime!"

"I was _forced_ to agree to your proposal," she blurted out. "You remember that night… when I told you I wasn't sure, that I needed time to think about it?"

"You told me you weren't ready," he admitted reluctantly. "Not that I listened, of course, but you still shouldn't have let me push you into it if you didn't want…"

"Arthur, you didn't push me into anything. It was Agravaine – he did something awful to Elyan that night and claimed he'd start hurting other people if I didn't agree to marry you. He made it obvious that he had magic on his side, and I was… I was scared. I didn't have any choice."

For the first time, he looked directly at her. "But why would Agravaine try to force you to marry me? He did everything he could to keep us apart. Even that business about you not working in the palace anymore… he said he supported my decision, but now I think it was just an excuse to put some distance between us."

"I… he must have found out about Lancelot and I somehow. We handed him a weapon, one he could use to hurt you in the worst possible way. He set it up to make sure you'd find us that morning. The sunrise wedding? Making sure Lancelot was the one guarding my door that night?"

"Agravaine didn't force you to take off your clothes and get into bed with Lancelot," Arthur said in a flat voice. "You can't put all of this on his shoulders."

"No," Gwen said quietly. "I can't. But I'd never intentionally put you through that sort of humiliation. Whatever you think of me now, surely you must know that."

Arthur frowned in confusion. "What are you trying to say?"

"Do you remember the wine? We drank it on the night of the engagement celebration – Agravaine served us from little blue bottles?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember how it made you feel?"

He shifted uncomfortably, as much due to the subject matter as his injury. "I felt very… it made me want to do a lot of inappropriate things. After that, I just have memories of feeling very tired, and of Merlin practically having to drag me out of bed the next morning. Well, it wasn't even morning. More like afternoon. I… hadn't really thought about it, but what the hell was in that stuff?"

"I don't know, but there were three bottles of it waiting for me at home that night. I wasn't planning on… doing what I did. I just drank some to calm my nerves, thinking it was ordinary wine. After that…"

"Yeah, I think I can figure out the rest."

"I'm sorry, Arthur. Truly, I am. I _never_ wanted…"

He let out a shuddering sigh. "I believe you. It's still hard to forgive you for not telling me the truth to begin with, for misleading me the way you did, but…"

"I know. I understand."

"Why didn't I let myself see it? Two years, Guinevere! For two years, I let that… that _snake_ run my kingdom! I can't believe…"

"Not always," she pointed out, trying to keep her voice soft and gentle in light of his obvious agitation. "You went against his advice when it really mattered. Remember the battle of Carleon?"

"It wasn't enough though," he said moodily. "I should have…"

She shook her head. "We can't change the past, Arthur. All we can do is move on from here."

"I'm not sure I know how to do that."

"You'll figure it out. I have faith in you. I always have. You will be a great king, Arthur, and…"

He grimaced, turning his head away from her. "Stop. Just… I know you're trying to help, but that's what it's always been about with us, isn't it? Teaching me manners, lecturing me about justice and mercy, propping me up with platitudes anytime I start to doubt myself?"

"I thought that's what you needed from me."

"I did. That's the problem. I've always been looking for someone to lean on, someone to guide me in the right direction, and…"

"There's nothing wrong with that," she said quietly.

Not within reason, no. But I relied on it too much. I was always leaving it to someone else when I was too afraid to think for myself. That's why Agravaine was able to control me the way he did… I was grieving for my father, I didn't feel ready to be king. And he… but it's not just him. It was my father, you, even Merlin when I'm insane enough to take his advice."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying I can't keep expecting everyone else to tell me how to be king. That's why this happened to begin with, and what Agravaine and Morgana have done…"

"You just have to know the difference," she told him, toying with a fold in her skirt. "It's all right to seek advice. Everyone needs a different perspective sometimes, and no one gets anywhere without encouragement. You just have to trust your own conscience and not let people push you around, that's all. If something feels wrong, you have to make it right, not find excuses to avoid dealing with it."

"I suppose that's true. Unfortunately, it's too late for that. What I allowed to happen…"

"This is something to learn from, Arthur, not the end. You can still…"

He closed his eyes, the corners of his mouth turning down as if he were close to weeping when he said, "Tell that to all the people lying dead in Camelot tonight. Tell it to mothers who will never see their sons again, wives who've lost their husbands. Tell it to the children who'll never have the chance to grow up, or the elderly who should've been allowed to die safe in their beds. Tell it…"

"Arthur…"

"You can't possibly know what it feels like to have that kind of suffering on your head. To know you are responsible for so much loss, and that if you had only been smarter, made better decisions, _hundreds_ of people would still be alive."

Gwen touched his hand, surprised when he didn't immediately pull away. "I know I can't, but…"

But he was finished. She could see that from the stubborn set of his chin, even before he said, "I'm tired, Guinevere. I'd like to rest now."

She hesitated, then let out a sigh of resignation as she rose to her feet. "Very well. Good night, Arthur."

He didn't respond.

* * *

It was well after dark by the time she rejoined the others, taking a seat at the table as Hunith served a lovely dinner of roasted chicken and spring vegetables. She noticed there was a bit extra on her plate, but of course, the older woman didn't acknowledge it with anything more than a gentle smile. It had been that way for over a week now – it was obvious Hunith was well aware of her condition, but she never said a word about it.

Gwaine was right – Merlin's mother certainly knew a thing or two about discretion.

"Are you all right?" Lancelot asked her softly, taking her hand beneath the table.

She glanced up from her chicken and smiled at him. "I'm fine. Honestly, it went much better than I thought it would."

"For me, too, although he does seem to be… I don't have the word for it, but I've never seen him that way."

"He's lost his spirit," she murmured in a quiet voice, even though the others were hardly paying attention. "He feels like a failure, which is certainly understandable."

Lancelot gave her a searching look. "I thought you might be able to bring him out of that a bit."

"No. He might still be willing to listen to me on some level, but I can't give him the strength he needs to move past what he's going through right now. He's going to have to find it in himself, and I think that's frightening him. But when he does, I have a feeling a lot of things will change for the better."

"You still have faith in him."

"Of course I do."

He nodded. "As do I. I don't think we're alone in that either."

"What are the two of you whispering about over there?" Gwaine demanded cheerfully. "Go off and get married, and all of a sudden, you're too good to talk to the rest of us?"

Merlin hadn't known. That much was obvious as the color drained from his face; without a word, he was out of his chair and headed for the door.

"Merlin…" Lancelot started, reaching out in a futile attempt to catch the other man by the elbow as he rose to his feet.

"No," Gwen said, urging him to sit back down with a gentle hand on his arm. "Let me."

* * *

"You married him," Merlin said flatly as she approached from behind.

"Of course I did. I have every intention of spending the rest of my life with him."

"When you spent so much time alone with Arthur today, I guess I was hoping…"

She frowned at him. "You thought there was a chance we might get back together? Oh, Merlin…"

"He still loves you, you know."

"I'm sure he does, just as I'll always love him. But that doesn't mean..."

Merlin was staring up at the stars, as if he somehow expected to find the answers there. "He's broken, Gwen. Did you see that? What Agravaine did to him… Morgana…"

"I know."

" _You_ were the one who could've restored his faith. If you'd married him…"

"But I didn't, Merlin. Lancelot was my choice… deep down, he has been all along. You have to understand that."

He shook his head vehemently. "If he'd just…"

"Left Camelot? Never stayed after our last battle with Morgana? Or maybe even walked through the veil instead of Uther? Because I know he almost did that."

"No, of course I wouldn't have wanted him to… I'm just saying that if he'd kept his feelings to himself, you would've been happy with Arthur. I know you would have. You would've made such a wonderful queen, Gwen."

"But it still would have been my second choice. I would've always been left feeling like there was something missing."

"You don't know that, you…"

"Merlin?"

He paused, glancing down at her. "Yes?"

"Why are you so invested in this anyway? I know Arthur means a great deal to you. I understand he's your friend, but…"

Letting out a humorless laugh, he shook his head. "He's not just my friend, Gwen. He's my destiny. It's on my shoulders to protect him, to guide him in the right direction in the hope that he will bring about a golden age where magic is restored to the kingdom. This is so much bigger than you can ever imagine, and you had a part in that."

She frowned in consternation. "How do you know all of this? Can you see the future?"

"No."

"Then who told you?"

"A friend of mine. One of my own kind."

"And you believed it?"

He gave her a scathing look. "It's more than that. I feel it. What he says, I know in my heart it's true."

"All right. I don't pretend to know the first thing about how the world of magic works. But where do I fit into all this? Did your friend tell you I was destined to marry Arthur?"

"No."

"Then how do you know that I was?"

"I told you, I just… _feel_ things sometimes."

She settled herself on a small pile of firewood. "You didn't try to stop Lancelot, did you? You never told him to ask me how I felt about it when he left me in the forest that morning. You wanted him out of the way for Arthur's sake."

"It was for the best. We both knew that."

Shaking her head, she let out a heavy sigh. "And all those years, when I asked you if you'd heard from him, you were lying when you said you hadn't."

"You were moving on," he muttered defensively as he sat down beside her. "You were happy with Arthur. I didn't want to ruin that for you."

"No, you didn't want to ruin it for _Arthur._ Don't pretend it had anything to do with me."

"Gwen, you don't understand…"

"You're right, I don't. If you believe so much in destiny, it doesn't make sense that you'd feel the need to meddle in other people's lives the way you do."

"I don't know what you mean," he said stiffly.

"Merlin, if I was truly meant to be with Arthur, don't you think that would've happened with or without you giving me an extra push? Would it have mattered whether or not you tried to keep Lancelot away from me? Isn't the whole point of destiny that it's something we can't control?"

"I…" But then he trailed off as he rose to his feet. Standing up to see what he was staring at, she gasped at the sight of hundreds of torches in the distance, illuminating the countryside with their hellish orange glow.

"Agravaine," he choked out as the faint echo of a terrified scream reached their ears. "He's found us!"


	117. The Waiting Game

#  **Chapter 117: The Waiting Game**

* * *

"You could still go back, you know," Gwen said to her companion as they sat beneath a towering chestnut tree. "No telling what's going to happen from here."

Millie snorted. "Stay in Ealdor tending pigs while you lot have all the fun? No, thank you."

"It's probably going to be dangerous."

"So? I left Oakview to have a little adventure, not to sit on my ass. Well, that and I didn't want to lose a good steady fuck, of course."

Gwen smiled to herself. "Of course."

Everything had been a blur until they'd reached the Forest of Essetir – their frantic flight from Ealdor, followed by racing through the caves with a host of bloodthirsty Southrons on their heels. She still didn't know what had happened to rid them of that particular threat – Merlin had told Arthur he was going back to provide a distraction, returning a little while later looking grim, yet relieved.

Had Merlin killed Agravaine? She didn't feel comfortable asking, even if she'd been able to catch him at one of those rare moments when he wasn't hovering at Arthur's side. They'd hardly spoken since the night of the attack, and he didn't seem to be in any hurry to rectify the situation.

It had been more than a week since they'd made camp in the forest, a situation that was frustrating at best, nearly intolerable at worst. The official reasoning was that Arthur needed time to rest and heal, but after the first couple days, it had become obvious that the worst of his injuries couldn't be treated with herbs and bandages. He hardly talked, spending most of his time staring into the distance with dull, lifeless eyes. Only Merlin was ever able to get through to him, but that usually resulted in nothing more than a sharp retort before Arthur lapsed into another brooding silence.

On one hand, Gwen couldn't help but sympathize. Discovering Agravaine's true nature in such a shocking way couldn't have been easy, particularly after having believed the man dead for half a year or more. And of course, it didn't exactly help matters that Arthur blamed himself for the entire debacle.

But sitting around obsessing over his failures wasn't going to fix anything either. The only way he could even begin to put things right would be to return and fight for everything Camelot still had left. Yes, many had lost their lives and that was a terrible thing... but what about the survivors? What of all the innocent men, women, and children who were even now living under tyranny, looking to Arthur as their only hope?

A year ago, she would've been the first to point that out, even if she'd had to be harsh to get through to him. But that wasn't her place anymore; if Merlin or perhaps Gwaine couldn't bring him out of his stupor somehow, who knew how long they'd be left here to languish?

It was far from an ideal situation, made worse by the lingering tension that hung heavy in the air. Both she and Lancelot were careful to give Arthur his space, but being sensitive to his feelings also meant keeping their distance from one another. There were no casual kisses or embraces, no snuggling up to him while he sat beside the fire. She'd even taken to sleeping alone, feeling his gaze on her back from across the clearing whenever she crawled beneath the blanket.

As much as she missed being close to him, however, there was an advantage in the absence of physical contact. She was growing larger by the day, the swell of her belly much more pronounced than it had been when they'd lain together on the night of their wedding. The line between "just gained a little weight" and "definitely pregnant" had officially been crossed, and there was no going back.

As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, Millie said, "How you feeling?"

Gwen cast a quick glance around, relieved to see that other than Arthur, who was seated a good distance away, the campsite was empty.

"Where did they go?"

"Said they were going hunting. Took off while you were napping a little while ago."

"Oh, that's nice. I hope they bring back some rabbit. Or pheasant. I'd love some pheasant! Seems like ages since..."

Millie cut her off with a knowing look. "Keep eating so much and you'll be fatter than Nessie."

Gwen looked down at the chunk of bread in her hands, her cheeks turning red. "I know, it's just that I always seem to be hungry lately. All I ever think about is food."

"Ah, I'm just giving you a hard time. Not getting sick anymore then?"

"Not since the morning after the wedding."

"Good," Millie said with a nod, then rose to her feet. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

She didn't answer until they were a few dozen paces away from the campsite, well secluded in a thicket of hawthorn. "All right, show me."

Gwen hesitated, then lifted the hem of her tunic.

"Wow," Millie breathed, letting out a low whistle as she slid her hands over the firm, rounded swell. "Bit bigger than I was expecting, that's for sure."

"I don't know what happened," Gwen said helplessly.

"Sometimes it's like that from what I understand. Go to sleep and then wake up to discover you're twice as big as you were the day before. Well, maybe not _that_ bad, but close enough."

Gwen sighed, sitting down on a fallen log. "This is wrong. I know it is. I must be getting close to five months now, four and a half at least, and he still doesn't know."

"Take off that tent you're wearing and he'll figure it out soon enough."

"Lancelot can't find out about this. Not now."

Millie frowned."Why not?"

"Camelot," Gwen said in a tiny whisper. "If we fight, and we probably will, he'd never tolerate me going along if he knew I was carrying a child."

"Don't expect he's going to be jumping for joy either way, but you do have a point there. It's just that... well, his reaction might not necessarily be the wrong one, you know."

"What do you mean?"

Millie gave her an apologetic look. "Now, I'm all for a woman doing what she thinks is best for herself without a man interfering... but going into battle while pregnant? Especially as far along as you are?"

"I can't even be five months yet," Gwen said defensively. "Almost, maybe, but not quite. It's not like I'm going to go into labor right in the middle of it, you know."

"Might come to that if that king of yours doesn't get off his ass and do something soon. Useless sot."

" _Millie!_ Arthur's not useless, he just..."

"I know, I know. He's had a rough time of it. Still doesn't mean he's helping anyone by sitting around looking like someone just slaughtered his favorite puppy. He's supposed to be a king. Needs to start acting like one if you ask me."

It was hard to argue with that; Gwen lapsed into silence instead, one hand cradling her belly as she stared off into the distance. "Part of me doesn't think it's a good idea either," she said softly after a few minutes had passed. "That part of me is terrified something bad will happen, or that even if it doesn't, Lancelot will never forgive me for taking the risk."

"Understandable. Maybe you should..."

"I... I had a nightmare that Morgana showed up here," she continued, as if Millie hadn't spoken. "She was carrying a sword, an awful thing with a barbed blade and rubies embedded all along the edges. Or at least, that's what I thought they were until I realized it was blood. My blood. I looked down at myself and that's all I could see. Blood. I fell to my knees, begging her for mercy, and she just... she _laughed_. She murdered my baby, and she laughed as I wept at her feet."

Millie sounded a bit shaken when she said, "If you think this Morgana means to kill you, seems like an even better reason to sit this one out."

Gwen shook her head vehemently. "No, this is exactly why I _need_ to fight. So many things have happened to me that I couldn't control. People leaving me, people dying... people doing their best to get rid of me or my loved ones, and all I could do was wait and hope for some sort of salvation. That was what Arthur was all about, you know. I put so much faith in him, all these expectations that he'd..."

"That he'd somehow be able to fix everything?"

"Yes," Gwen said quietly. "It wasn't fair or realistic, but I was alone in the world. I'd lost my father, my brother... Lancelot was gone, and Morgana was slipping away. I was looking for something to cling to, and Arthur was there. He was a promise of safety in a world that was uncertain at best, downright terrifying at worst."

"It's not wrong to look for comfort when you're feeling that way. We all need that at one time or another."

"Perhaps not, but I'm so tired of hoping, Millie. Waiting for someone else to do whatever it takes to make the world a safer place, when all I can do is stay behind and hope they won't lose their life in the process? And even when they defeat whatever enemy they might be facing, I don't feel any safer. I just wonder whether or not there'll be someone there to stand between me and the next threat."

"So what are you saying?" Millie said, looking a little confused. "You want to be a warrior? Because I'm not sure you're cut out for that sort of thing."

"No. I'm just tired of always waiting for someone else to save me. Just once, I want to save myself... to be the one fighting to defend the kingdom I love. I want to know that should I ever need it, I _do_ have that power."

"I think I understand. But couldn't you wait for a different battle to make that point? One where you're not pregnant on top of everything else?"

"That's why it needs to be now. I want to bring my child into a world where I can teach him that no person is helpless to change their fate. I don't want him to feel like he must always rely on others to make things better, or to do so because he doesn't know how to trust himself. I want…"

" _He?_ "

"What? Oh." Gwen gave her a rueful smile. "Or she. I don't know, it just seems right to think of it as a boy. I can't explain it."

Millie raised an eyebrow. "Oh hell... you're expecting a little Lancelot. May the fates help us all."

"You won't tell, will you?"

"Haven't so far, have I? Don't get me wrong, I still don't think you should be trying to fight in your condition, but it's not my choice to make."

"And Gwaine?"

Millie smirked as she rose to her feet. "Already told him that if he breathed so much as a word to Lancelot, he could forget about ever putting his cock in my mouth again. Think you're good there."

Gwen let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"Come on then. Let's go see if those bumbling fools managed to catch us any supper."

"Wait, I... do you think you can keep Lancelot and the others distracted for a little while? We're not far from that little spring we saw on the way here and I'd like to have a bath."

"More than food?" Millie frowned at her. "You sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine, just feeling pretty grimy."

"Fair enough. Just make sure you're back before dark, eh?"

"Of course."

* * *

Lancelot dropped a pair of plump pheasants by the fire, then stretched his arms above his head as he glanced around the campsite. "Where's Gwen?"

Millie snorted as she plucked out a long tail feather and twirled it between her fingers. "Is that all you ever think about? Wait, nevermind. Stupid question. She's off having a bath."

"Oh, I should go check on her."

"I... ah, no. Don't do that."

He frowned at her, kneeling to withdraw a small knife from his boot. "Why not?"

"Said she wanted to be alone. And yes, before you ask, she's fine."

"Perhaps I should still..."

"Nice birds," she interrupted, running her hand over the soft plumage of one and then the other. "I'll have to make a point of thanking Gwaine properly later tonight."

"He didn't capture them. I did."

"Horseshit. The last time I traveled with you, you couldn't have captured a blind dog in a broom closet. Truly the most miserable hunter I've ever..."

Lancelot let out a huff of annoyance, rising abruptly to his feet. "I've improved tremendously since then, so if you want to thank me for the fact that I did indeed provide your supper, you can start by preparing it yourself." Without another word, he dropped the skinning knife he was holding and stalked away.

"Shit," she muttered under her breath. "Lancelot! I'm sorry. You're right, that was a little much. I was only teasing, you know."

He gave her a curt nod, then continued on his way.

"Lancelot, _wait!_ You can't..."

"What?"

"I'm sorry. Here, I'll clean the damn birds. Just come back and talk to me. Please."

Letting out a heavy sigh, he stopped in his tracks, then reluctantly returned to his place by the fire.

"There, that's better." She grinned at him as he sat down. "Where are the others anyway?"

"Gwaine and Merlin went off to search for any other survivors that might have taken refuge here, and..."

"But I thought all three of you did that the other day."

He nodded. "We did, but we found some fresh tracks earlier."

"And the king?"

Silently, he pointed; she could barely make out the silhouette that was slumped against a tree up on the hill that bordered the campsite.

"Still no improvement, eh?"

"No," he said quietly. "He's come to believe that all his people are dead and that it's his fault. That's a hard thing to cope with."

"That's why Gwaine and Merlin are out looking for survivors. To give him something to fight for?"

"Yes."

She sighed, skewering one bird on a spit and putting it over the fire to roast before starting on the other. "I hope they find someone."

"As do I."

"Lancelot?"

"Yes?"

This was dangerous ground; the last thing she wanted to do was lose a friend, but she wouldn't be able to live with herself if she didn't at least try to prevent Gwen from putting herself at risk... and her unborn child as well.

"I... have you ever seen Gwen fight?"

He looked surprised. "No. I'm not sure she's ever been in a situation that would've required such a thing."

"Ealdor. There was a story she told me, something about bandits and convincing Arthur to let the women defend the village, too. She told me she brought down at least a couple enemies herself."

That brought a smile to his face. "I never heard the last part."

"If there's a battle for Camelot, she told me she intends to fight."

The smile was gone. "No. Absolutely not."

"I know, I tried to talk her out of it, but her mind is made up. Lancelot, you have to stop her. She might hate me for this, but I just can't stand the thought of anything happening to her or... well, she's my friend, and..."

"Don't worry," he interrupted, speaking to her more gently than he had in as long as she could remember. "I won't mention that you ever spoke to me about this. As for the rest, I'll do everything I can to dissuade her. The very thought of it..."

"Is that pheasant?"

They both jumped, whipping around to find Gwen standing on the other side of the clearing, smiling at them both. She was still dressed in the heavy woolen tunic and trousers she'd discovered in the sack of supplies Hunith had hastily thrown together, but her face was freshly scrubbed, dark curls clean and shining as she settled herself beside them and reached up to braid her hair.

"Feel better?" Millie asked her, arching an eyebrow as Gwen leaned a little closer to the roasting meat, then inhaled and let out a low moan of appreciation.

"Oh yes, very much. When will it be ready?"

* * *

Lancelot had tried to resist the urge, but there he was again – one hand braced against a tree trunk while the other fumbled with the laces of his trousers. He freed himself with a grunt of triumph, wasting no time as he wrapped his fist around his erection and set a swift, almost punishing rhythm.

Perhaps he should've been ashamed of his lack of control, but after more than a week of having Gwen right there at his fingertips without being able to touch her, he felt like he was losing his mind. Everything she did had become erotic somehow, from the way she bit her lip whenever she was deep in thought, to the curve of her hip beneath the blanket while she slept.

Even watching her eat had tested his restraint, his hardness straining against the confines of his trousers as she'd licked her fingers with soft sounds of pleasure. Who could've known that a simple supper of roasted pheasant could be so arousing? It had been all he could do not to take her right there on the ground, no longer caring if the entire world was looking on as he buried himself inside her.

Of course, he hadn't acted on that impulse, just as he'd resisted the urge to slip beneath her blanket each night. The arguments for that were strong and compelling... they could be quiet about it. He could make it quick, or they could even sneak off into the darkness as Gwaine and Millie often did. But Gwen always seemed to be the first to fall asleep these days, and more than that, he was uncertain she'd welcome his advances. She'd been careful to keep her distance out of consideration for Arthur.

In the end, she was probably right to do so... but that didn't make it any easier to go without the intimacy he craved.

Conjuring up an image of her bathing like she'd done earlier that evening, he pushed himself over the edge, spilling his release with a sharp gasp as he imagined chasing droplets of water across her bare skin with the tip of his tongue. And then he leaned his head against the tree, still panting from exertion as the cool night breeze soothed his heated flesh.

Yes, that was better... perhaps he could hope to get some sleep after all.

"Are you all right?"

"Merlin!" He whipped around, hastily tying the laces of his trousers. "Yes, I was just... relieving myself."

"You're sweating."

He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead. "I... ah, I had a nightmare."

Merlin nodded. "Arthur's been having them, too. It's not easy being stuck out here with nothing to do but imagine the worst, is it?"

"No," Lancelot said quietly. "It's not."

That was the most difficult part – living with the fear that with each day they lingered here, more lives were being stolen, and Morgana's hold upon the kingdom was only growing stronger. He wasn't in a position to speak with Arthur about any of this, but it was maddening to witness sunset after sunset, hoping each morning would bring the rally they needed only to be disappointed all over again. How much longer could this go on?

As if sensing his thoughts, Merlin smiled. "We found them."

"The survivors?"

"Yes. There are hundreds of them, Lancelot. Far more than I was hoping. The knights have kept them well hidden, but they're right here in the forest. And in the morning…"

"What?" Lancelot asked him anxiously.

"I have a plan."


	118. The Final Battle

#  **Chapter 118: The Final Battle**

* * *

The morning was cool and clear when Gwen was roused from her slumber, lush green foliage softly illuminated by dappled sunlight. Shifting onto her back, she stretched all the way to her toes, humming in drowsy contentment as her eyes fell upon Lancelot kneeling at her side. She blinked in confusion as she gazed up at him, surprised that he'd been the one to awaken her.

"Is something wrong?" But she knew the answer to that question before he shook his head; he wasn't smiling, but there was something about his expression that spoke of quiet anticipation. Sitting up with the blanket still clutched to her chest, she glanced around the deserted campsite. "Where is everyone?"

"You'll see. But first…" He leaned forward, covering her mouth with his own.

Moaning low in her throat, she threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled him closer, parting her lips beneath the gentle demand of his tongue. She'd forgotten how amazing it felt to kiss him, the week she'd gone without such pleasures suddenly seeming like an eternity.

For a few blissful moments, she lost herself in the sweetly arousing sensation of his mouth pressed against hers, hungry for the touch of his strong hands as they moved restlessly up and down her back. It was only when those hands began to wander that she remembered herself, pulling back just before he could slide them under her tunic.

He shook his head, giving her a rueful smile. "I only meant to kiss you, but…"

"I know." She blushed, trying to ignore the sudden flurry of erotic thoughts brought on by her own unfulfilled need as he rose and held out a hand to help her to her feet. "Where are we going?"

"It isn't far. They… well, you'll have to see for yourself."

Fingers entwined, they walked through the trees in silence. She glanced up to find him smiling every now and again, no doubt anticipating her reaction to whatever it was he intended to show her. It was only when she heard the sound of voices just ahead that he put some distance between them, remaining a few paces behind as she entered the clearing.

She gasped in disbelief.

All around her were dozens of familiar faces, red cloaks and ordinary citizens alike. A few gave her courteous nods or perhaps even a cautious smile, but for the most part, their attention was focused on something she couldn't quite see. Moving forward, she chose a spot beside Sir Leon, her mouth falling open as she realized what he was staring at.

Arthur was standing in the middle of the clearing with Merlin just behind him, his eyes fixed on a gleaming sword that appeared to be embedded in solid stone. It seemed impossible that anyone would've been able to pull it out; Arthur gave it a couple of unsuccessful tries before muttering something to Merlin under his breath.

And then somehow, she knew it would be there even before she saw it – a brief flash of gold in the sorcerer's eyes. She instantly recognized his plan for what it was, bold and brilliant and perhaps even a little mad, yet exactly what was needed to restore faith to a man who'd no longer seemed to have known the meaning of the word.

She heard a soft scrape followed by a sigh of relief and then there was Arthur... a king in his moment of glory, holding the magnificent sword aloft as he gazed at the heavens above.

In that moment, she realized the man she'd known would be laid to rest that day... or at least all of the doubts and insecurities, the ever present fear that had prevented him from fully acknowledging his own sovereignty. When he turned to face the awestruck crowd, there was something in his eyes she'd never seen there before.

Absolute faith.

* * *

Everything happened quickly after that; Arthur gathered his forces around him and barked out commands left and right, a bold and decisive leader who bore no resemblance to the empty shell of a man he'd been before. They traveled through the rest of the day and well into evening, setting up camp in close proximity to the city with plans to launch their assault the following morning.

"Sir Leon? I want you to locate Elyan," he said, running a stick across the rough sketch of the palace he'd made in the loose dirt at his feet. "There's no telling where he might be, but when you find him, as I know you will, he's not to be harmed. I want to question him, to find out for certain whether or not he was enchanted or if he acted upon his own free will."

Leon bowed his head. "Yes, sire."

The question of whether Lancelot would be allowed to fight was quickly answered in the form of orders to accompany Gwaine and Percival to the dungeons to free the prisoners who were reportedly being held there.

"We know Gaius was arrested, as well as quite a few guards and court officials," Arthur said briskly, pacing back and forth in front of the gathered men. "It's likely that Princess Mithian will be found there as well. Make her your first priority, along with the elders and anyone who's injured and in need of care."

"Of course, sire."

He gave them a curt nod before looking beyond them. "All right, where's Guinevere?"

"I'm here, Arth... sire."

"You and your friend…"

"Millie?"

"Yes, that's right. The two of you will accompany me to the Council Chamber where I intend to face Morgana. I don't expect the opposition to be as heavy there, but you'll want to arm yourselves well, and…"

"Pardon me, sire," Lancelot interrupted in a soft, determined voice. "I think there's been a mistake. Gwen isn't..."

Arthur silenced him with a cutting glare. "Guinevere has made it clear that she wishes to fight, and in our present situation, Camelot is not in a position to turn its nose up at any help that's offered."

"But…"

"If you still have an issue with her participating in the battle, I suggest you speak with her directly. I've already made my decision."

"I… yes, sire."

A single look told Gwen what Lancelot wanted; perhaps surprisingly under the circumstances, she followed him without protest. It was the first time he could ever recall being truly upset with her... downright furious was more like it.

They were in a tiny glade, far removed from the others, when he finally spun around to face her.

"You went behind my back and convinced Arthur to let you fight."

"Yes," she said calmly.

"Why?" he demanded, staring down into the serene eyes that were gazing back at him, clearly not the least bit perturbed by his anger.

"Because I knew you'd be against it."

" _Of course I'm against it!_ You're not a soldier, Gwen! You can't possibly know what we'll be facing tomorrow, and… I've never even seen you with a weapon in your hand! Do you know how to fight?"

"None of that matters," she whispered, looking beyond him.

"The hell it doesn't! I will _not_ have you putting yourself in danger, I..."

She sucked in a deep breath. "I'm afraid that's not your choice to make."

His outrage wasn't doing any good; perhaps it was time to try a different tactic. Sitting down on a stump, he reached out and took her hand, softening both his voice and his eyes as he gazed up at her.

"Why?"

She bit her lip and looked away. "Because I'm tired of feeling helpless."

"But you're not! You have _me_ to protect you! I would fight to the death before I'd let you come to any harm. Surely you must know that by now. Have I not proven…?"

"Lancelot, this isn't about you."

He shook his head, staring up at her in bewilderment. "How can you say that? I… I'm your husband, Gwen. It's _my_ duty to keep you safe, to fight for you whenever the need should arise. I've trained my whole life for this, I…"

"I know, and I'm sorry. This is just something I have to do."

"No, you don't! I... this is why I set out to become everything that I am, why I'm willing to suffer and bleed and even die for a cause if I must. So those I love, _you_ first and foremost, will not have to! How can you ask me to watch you walk into battle, when everything I have ever known and believed…"

She knelt in front of him, taking both of his hands in her own. Studying them for a long moment, she raised his fingers to her lips, pressing gentle kisses to the scars and calluses she found there. "I know," she said softly, gazing up at him with tear filled eyes. "I wish I wasn't so afraid. I…"

He dropped to the ground beside her, drawing her into his arms and resting his cheek against her dark curls. "That is why I fight. So you don't _have_ to be afraid anymore."

"I don't know how to make you understand this," she said, the words somewhat muffled against his chest.

"Try."

"For as long as I can remember, I've had no choice but to depend on others to protect me. My father, my brother, Arthur, you... there has always come a time when I could no longer rely on one of you to be there when I needed you. I've lived with this fear since I was a little girl... as most women do, I suppose. What would happen to me if someone _wasn't_ around to pick up a sword in my defense?"

"Gwen, I'm here. I will never leave you again, I promise. I…"

She let out a quiet laugh, but the sound was mirthless, strangely hollow. "You can't know that. How many times have you told me you'd die for me? Do you ever think about what would become of me if that actually happened?"

He frowned, finding the thought unsettling. "I intend to do my best to see that it never comes to that."

"But there are no guarantees. Admit it."

"No," he reluctantly agreed. 

Pulling back to look up at him, she closed her eyes as he reached out to wipe the tears from her cheeks. "That is why I need to do this," she whispered, pressing her face into his hand. "I need to know that when it really matters, I _am_ capable of defending myself."

Lancelot cast about helplessly, realizing he was fighting a losing battle. "Wait until this is over then, and I will train you. I'll teach you combat techniques, and…"

But she was already shaking her head before he could finish. "It's not the same. I have no wish to be a warrior, spending hours each day on the practice field. That isn't me. I just need to know that if it comes to a situation where I have no other choice…"

He let out a heavy sigh, burying his head in his hands. "If I cannot change your mind…"

"You can't."

"Will you at least promise that you'll stay close to Arthur then? Or Merlin… no doubt he'll be with you when you go to face Morgana. Swear to me that you won't let them out of your sight, that you will not take any unnecessary risks. I could not bear it if…"

"I promise," she murmured, with so much conviction that he could almost believe all would be well.

"We don't have to go back yet, you know," he told her a few minutes later, drawing her back into his arms and brushing her curls aside to kiss her neck. "I doubt anyone will miss us on a night like this, and it's been so long since…"

"I know," she agreed, even as she pulled away with a soft sound of regret. "But not now. I'll make it up to you soon, I promise."

_… if we win the battle._

Her last words went unspoken, but hung heavy in the air nonetheless as she gave him one last smile before leaving to rejoin the others. By the time he followed, she was already curled up in her blanket, lying next to Millie with their heads close together as they whispered in the darkness.

He let out a resigned sigh and made his own bed beside Gwaine, but it seemed a pointless endeavor. It was doubtful he'd be getting any sleep this night.

* * *

" _For the love of Camelot!_ "

The mighty cry reverberated through the forest, echoing off the trees as they set off for the towering spires in the distance. Gwen glanced back at Lancelot over her shoulder, momentarily lost in eyes that were still begging her to turn back, even at this late hour. Swallowing her guilt, she turned and followed Arthur, slipping through the secret passages and into the city without encountering any opposition along the way.

"This is where we split up," the king instructed as they came to a fork in the tunnels. "Percival, Gwaine… Lancelot. Best of luck to you. We'll see each other again when this is over."

She didn't know how to be frightened, not when everything around her felt and looked and smelled like something she'd nearly forgotten. _Home_. Even with the acrid odor of smoke in the air and the heavy, pervasive silence all around them, she was overwhelmed by the feeling of safety and comfort… strangely at odds with the sight that greeted them as they emerged into the palace corridor.

The small group of Southrons came upon them so quickly that there was nothing to do but draw and fight. Arthur took out most of them, assisted by several guards he'd brought along, but Gwen and Millie soon devised their own strategy, one providing the distraction while the other went in for the kill.

It was suddenly understandable how warriors managed to endure battle after battle – there simply wasn't time to be afraid, to take any notice of the blood and gore along the way. Survival was about staying in constant motion, moving to the next opponent before the last had even hit the ground.

They were outnumbered; for every enemy who fell, there were two to take his place, appearing from out of open doorways or rushing at them from the other end of the hall. Gwen was swiftly growing weary, every muscle in her body feeling as if it were on fire as she continued to swing the heavy sword she was ill accustomed to wielding. Finally, there was a brief lull; she pressed one hand to the ache in her lower back, panting heavily as she rested her head against the wall.

"You all right?" Millie asked, shoving locks of damp red hair out of her face as she rested her own sword on the ground.

Gwen nodded, then let out a squeak of alarm as another pair of dark clad assailants came upon them. Letting out a savage yell, Millie lifted her weapon, swinging it in a wide arc that somehow managed to knock both of them to the ground.

"Impressive," Gwen said a little breathlessly.

"Tell me about it. Think I've been in the wrong business, slinging drinks all these years. You all right to move on? Arthur's already gone in there."

"Let's go."

Gwen had countless memories of the Council Chamber, all of which assaulted her as they stepped through the double doors. But this was one that would stand above the rest if she managed to survive – the sight of Arthur standing face to face with Morgana, his blue eyes full of sadness and betrayal. Biting her lip, she cringed as the sorceress lifted her hand, spitting out the words that would no doubt bring him to his knees.

Nothing happened.

Morgana's eyes grew wide as she tried again, staring at her pale, slender fingers as if she'd never seen them before. She recited the spell for a third time and then a fourth, a distinct note of hysteria in her voice, but it was all for nothing. Her magic was gone.

Arthur said something under his breath and then stepped forward, clashing with the tall, dark man who moved to defend her. Meanwhile, Morgana took off running, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts as she fled the chamber.

_Follow her. Bring her down._

There was no thought to Gwen's actions, only instinct as she emerged into the empty corridor, her own footsteps sounding harsh and hollow as they echoed off the walls. She held her weapon close to her body, hands trembling with both weariness and fear as she rounded a corner and came face to face with her quarry.

However shaken Morgana might have been just moments before, she'd swiftly recovered, stalking toward Gwen with sword in hand and a malicious gleam in her eyes.

"You intend to kill me?"

Morgana smiled, a cold, calculating mockery of the joyful expressions she'd worn in the past. "Of course. Nice and slow if I can manage it, but I can sometimes be a little sloppy about these things. You understand."

They met in the center of the hall, clashing once, twice, and then a third time as Gwen struggled to find the words to respond.

"What did I ever do to make you hate me so much?"

That brought a snarl to Morgana's face. "You tried to steal my crown. You're a liar and a traitor, a selfish, manipulative…"

"I don't want the crown! I just…" But her words choked off as she felt the sharp edge of the blade, followed by a stinging sensation that radiated down her side. She staggered, slumping heavily against the wall as she struggled to keep her sword aloft, but it was no use; the heavy weapon slipped from her fingers, falling to the floor with a deafening clatter.

It was at that exact moment when Gwen felt a shift deep in her belly.

Her baby started to move for the first time, gently nudging her from the inside as she let out a gasp of pain, staring down at the blood that was soaking through the thick fabric of her tunic. It all changed in that moment, the abstract concept of her condition finally becoming _real_... there was a tiny person growing inside her, one that was utterly dependent on her for safety and protection.

What the hell was she doing here? What madness had driven her to not only risk her own life, but her unborn child's as well?

Now they'd both die, and Lancelot would know the truth, nothing left to disguise it when her lifeless body was stripped and dressed for burial. Even if he somehow continued to breathe as he grieved for his wife and the child he'd never known, what she'd done would kill him, too, as surely as if she'd sunk a dagger deep into his heart.

Sobbing in helpless anguish, she curled in around herself as Morgana raised her arms above her head to deliver the death blow, cradling her stomach in a futile gesture to shelter the life growing within as her legs gave out beneath her.

But the sword never fell.

Instead, there was a deafening crash, the air thick with dust as part of the ceiling began to crumble. Hastily scooting away as much as she could manage, Gwen watched in disbelief as it collapsed on the place where Morgana had been standing just a moment before.

"Merlin!"

"You all right?" he called out, rushing to kneel beside her.

She lifted her hand, the bloody one she'd been pressing to her wound, whimpering softly as tears streamed down her face.

"Let me see," he said briefly, pushing the tunic up to expose the injury. Letting out a sharp gasp, he stared down at the pronounced swell of her bare stomach. "Gwen, you're…"

"Pregnant," she gritted out as he pressed shaking fingers to the cut on her side. "Yes, I'm well aware of that. How bad is it? Am I going to die? Please, Merlin, tell me!"

"It's not…" But he was interrupted by the echo of footsteps at the other end of the hall, followed by a loud chuckle; they both looked up to find themselves staring into Agravaine's cold black eyes.

"My, my, Guinevere, you _do_ have a healthy appetite. First Arthur and then Lancelot… or was it the other way around? And now I come back to find you with a _third_ lover… in a delicate condition, no less! Tell me – who's the lucky father?"

"How did you survive?" Merlin bit out, glaring at him without a trace of fear. "I _killed_ you. I saw your body."

"Oh, Emrys – may I call you Emrys? No matter. You saw what I wanted you to see, as all men do. Of course, you couldn't have known that I had a little help on my side."

Reaching into the collar of his shirt, he pulled out an amulet that was filled with violet liquid, gently shimmering in the light. "This," he said with a calculated smile, "was all the protection I needed, even against a powerful sorcerer like yourself. She told me it would be, though fool that I was, I doubted her when you lifted your hand to strike me down. Rest assured, I will not lose faith again."

"Morgana is gone," Merlin said softly. "Look under that pile of rocks and you'll see what's become of the evil you served."

Agravaine stepped forward, pushing aside broken bits of ceiling with the toe of his boot. "You see? There's nothing here. It seems that once again, you've underestimated my mistress."

"She might have saved herself this time, but that doesn't save you. Do you know how a talisman like that works? It draws on the power of the one who made it. What do you think happens when that power has been sapped?"

For the first time, Agravaine began to look nervous. "You're lying."

"Am I?" Merlin said almost thoughtfully, rising to his feet and extending his hand. "Let's see…"

Gwen barely heard the spell he uttered, too lost in a haze of pain and fear to think about anything other than the blood seeping through her fingers and the child that was still shifting inside her womb. But she saw Agravaine go down on his knees, clutching his throat and gasping for air as the color drained from his face.

"Don't kill him, Merlin," she whispered in a faint voice. "Arthur deserves the chance to…" But the rest of her words were lost as the world abruptly faded to black.


	119. Truth, Honor, and Justice

#  **Chapter 119: Truth, Honor, and Justice**

* * *

Agravaine was down on his knees when Arthur found him in the corridor, hands behind his back with the point of Merlin's sword resting against his throat. But far more jarring was the sight of Guinevere slumped against the wall just a few paces away, her face deathly pale aside from the smudge of thick black lashes that lay against her cheeks.

It appeared as if she'd taken a wound on her side, but that wasn't half as shocking as where her hand was resting, bloodstained fingers splayed out across a bare stomach that was obviously swollen with child. For a heart stopping moment he thought she was dead… but then she came back to consciousness with a soft whimper, gazing up at him with eyes full of pain and confusion. 

"A-Arthur?"

Before he could speak, there was a screech behind him; the redhead flew past, ripping off a large portion of her shirt and then kneeling on the floor to press it to the wound.

Tearing his eyes away with the assurance that at least _some_ help was being provided, Arthur forced himself to focus his sights on Agravaine. A thousand accusations ran through his head in that moment, but in the end, they all emerged as a single word.

"Why?"

The older man let out a derisive snort. "Why? Where shall I start? The day you were born when you murdered my sister? Or maybe we could talk about your father, the way he ordered me out of his kingdom when I dared to question the circumstances surrounding that birth?"

"I am not responsible for…"

"I hardly see where that's relevant. What better way to have my revenge upon Uther than by bringing his only son, the solitary joy of his life, to utter ruin? And if it means putting my beautiful mistress on the throne in the process, all the better."

"Morgana has Pendragon blood, just as I do."

Agravaine chuckled. "So she does. And yet she's suffered at Uther's hands as I have, the poor girl. His secret, his shame… all the more so for the gifts she possesses."

"Those are not gifts," Arthur said in a hard, brittle voice. "Not the way she uses them. She's corrupted by hatred, no more than a shell of what she once was."

"And yet she holds more power in her little finger than a spoiled, indecisive little brat like you will ever understand. When she has conquered this kingdom…"

"That will _never_ happen."

"Oh, but it will," Agravaine almost purred, smirking up at him. "Go ahead and kill me if you like. It will not stop her."

Resisting the overpowering urge to cut his throat and be done with it, Arthur swallowed hard and forced himself to turn away. "Summon the guards," he told Merlin. "In Camelot, even the worst offenders are given a fair trial. I'll grant him the right he chose to deny others... those who were far less guilty of treachery than he could ever be."

With those words, his eyes shifted back to Guinevere. She was still awake, her head cradled on the other woman's breast as tears streamed from beneath her tightly closed lids. And then two things happened at once – a moment of forgiveness that lifted a huge weight from his heart, followed by a brief lapse in judgment that could have ended it all.

Merlin lowered his sword so Arthur's could take its place, not realizing that the king was distracted. Agravaine was unguarded for no more than a second, but it was enough to provide the opening he'd been looking for.

In a flash, his dagger was out of its sheath, wicked silver point flying toward Arthur's chest. Excalibur was already between them, sliding into the man's fleshy stomach, but Agravaine was still driven forward by the momentum, lips twisted in a feral snarl of agony mingled with seething hatred.

But then a mighty shout echoed off the walls, raw and filled with desperation, as a familiar pair of blue eyes turned a foreign shade of gold. A hand shot out and Agravaine flew backward, hitting the wall with a sickening thud before falling forward to lay facedown in a widening pool of his own blood.

Arthur stared at Merlin, aghast. "You… you have magic?"

"Good thing he does!" the redhead piped up. "Or else you'd be the one laying there bleeding like a stuck pig."

"I didn't ask you for your opinion," the king said stiffly.

"If I sat around waiting to be asked, I'd never get the chance to talk," she told him in a cheerful voice, readjusting Gwen's makeshift bandage.

"Arthur, I..." Merlin started, his previously commanding voice suddenly small and frightened. "I had to, I... there was no other choice."

"You… how could you…?"

But just then, they were interrupted by the sound of pounding footsteps at the other end of the hall. Arthur tightened his grip on his sword, but the Southrons who appeared there stopped in their tracks, staring at Agravaine's bloody corpse with eyes that were suddenly filled with uncertainty.

"You'll find Helios in the Council Chamber in a similar condition," Arthur called to them. "But if it's Morgana you seek, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. She's gone… seems she felt it best to abandon her attempt to steal my throne when the battle turned against her. As for the rest of you…"

" _We will fight to the death!_ " one of them shouted back, reaching for his sword.

"I don't doubt your bravery, but to what end? Your leaders are dead, the cause you fought for an unquestionable failure. What reason is there to persist in this folly?"

Another stepped forward, brandishing a wicked looking mace. "Do you expect us to just stand here while you slaughter us like a bunch of sheep? No, we'll go down with weapons in our hands and a battle cry on our lips. We are not cowards, we…"

Arthur silenced him with a meaningful look. "I never said I intended to kill you. Gather what's left of your forces and leave this city, and you will be permitted to do so with your lives and dignity intact. All I ask is that you spread the word about what happened here today, letting all who might think to oppose us know that Camelot will never fall as long as I'm alive to defend it."

The man stared at him in disbelief. "How can we be sure you won't order your troops to cut us down like dogs?"

"Keep your weapons. If any man moves to attack you, defend yourselves. You have my full blessing in that. But that isn't likely to happen, as long as you agree to leave this city in peace and never return."

* * *

Word trickled down through the palace as dozens of dark clad soldiers poured out the wide doors and into the courtyard below, amassing in silence as they waited for their brothers in arms to join them. Finally satisfied that all surviving members were within their ranks, they marched through the city streets, disappearing beyond the gates without causing any further strife.

Lancelot and the knights had fought a hard battle down in the dungeon, dripping with sweat and blood from countless minor wounds by the time the retreat was finally sounded. Gaius was in bad shape and Princess Mithian, who'd been locked up with him, was pale and silent. They'd been sequestered in a large storage room as they'd waited out the conflict, along with about a dozen others who were in need of care.

All in all, it had been a triumph, with no casualties aside from a couple of younger knights who'd charged down the enemy rather than relying upon the strategy and forethought utilized by their older counterparts. Unfortunate to be sure, but something Lancelot had grown to realize was inevitable in just about any battle. Surviving as a knight had as much to do with strength of mind as skill with a sword, and there were always those who failed to realize that until it was too late.

"Guess that means we won," Gwaine said with a tired grin as the last of the Southrons retreated up the stairs. "Let's hope Arthur gets around to dispatching the rest of our orders soon – wouldn't mind sleeping in my own bed tonight."

Only a couple minutes had passed when a guard appeared from the floor above. "King Arthur requests that you bring any sick or wounded to the armory. It's already been set up to serve as an infirmary, and while it appears our Court Physician is indisposed, several healers from the lower town are available to accommodate our needs."

Lancelot saw to the task without complaint, although his anxiety over Gwen had become downright intolerable now that he no longer had the distraction of blades and heavy clubs coming at him from every direction to deal with. He checked for her each time he made his way to the armory with another injured prisoner, but she wasn't there... which was either comforting or intensely troubling depending on how he chose to look at it.

Another hour or two passed before the job was done; wearily, he entered the Council Chamber, bowing respectfully when he encountered a grim faced Arthur seated at the table.

"I heard you fought well," the king said, the neutral tone of his voice giving nothing away. "Camelot owes you a great debt."

"Thank you, sire. But I fear it's the other way around."

Arthur let that comment slide, along with all the implications contained therein. "Sir Leon found Elyan, did you hear? Nevermind, of course you did."

Lancelot nodded, thinking about the man who'd been locked in the first cell they'd come to. There hadn't been time to ask questions, but it had been clear that the enchantment had been broken. Elyan had wept with relief when they'd appeared, starved to the point of delirium as he'd babbled about the need for forgiveness. It had been Lancelot himself who'd escorted him to the armory, placing a hunk of bread in his hands that had been devoured with a mumbled word of thanks.

"H… how did it go up here, sire?"

"Agravaine and Helios are dead, while Morgana has disappeared. No loss of life on our side, but…"

Lancelot released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, nearly collapsing in the closest empty chair. She was safe. That was all that mattered.

"Agravaine?" he said after a moment. "I assumed he was dead after he stopped chasing us through the caves."

"You thought Merlin killed him?"

"Not necessarily, I…"

"You don't have to cover for him. I know about the magic."

"I… you do?"

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Again, no one else seems the least bit surprised. How long have you known about it? I want the truth."

Lancelot stared at him, debating on how much he should say. In the end, it seemed best just to be honest. "Remember the Griffin? Merlin helped me defeat it."

"What? That was nearly ten years ago! You're telling me you've known all that time? You never said a word, never even _hinted_ …"

"I'm sorry, sire. I made a promise that I wouldn't."

Arthur frowned, toying with a piece of parchment that was laying on the table. "So what happened? He told you about his… abilities, and you asked for help? I remember Gaius telling my father it couldn't be bested without sorcery, but I never thought…"

"I didn't know he had magic," Lancelot said quietly. "I was charging the Griffin down when I heard him behind me, shouting out some words I didn't understand. The lance grew warm in my hand and started to glow; it pierced the creature right through the heart when I struck."

"That's why you left, isn't it?" Arthur said, his voice slow and thoughtful.

Lancelot gave him a small smile. "Yes. I couldn't take the credit for what he did."

"You always were a man of honor."

"Not always," he responded, his voice full of the shame he'd never allowed himself to fully acknowledge until that moment. "I betrayed you. It was never my intention, but…"

Arthur held a hand up to silence him. "One thing I've learned from Morgana and Agravaine is that a true traitor acts without regret. They betrayed me out of cruelty and blind hatred, not due to simple human folly as was the case with you and Guinevere, perhaps even Merlin as well. You hurt me deeply, but a lapse in judgment hardly amounts to treason, wouldn't you agree? Because if it does, I'm no less guilty of that crime than the three of you would be."

"Arthur…"

"Do you know what this is?" He held out the piece of parchment. "It's an order to have Merlin arrested for the crime of sorcery. An hour ago, I was ready to sign it, but now I'm not so sure."

"Everything he's ever done was for you and for Camelot!" Lancelot protested vehemently. "The only reason he didn't tell you the truth was because it was far too dangerous, especially when your father was alive. Surely you must know that. Arthur, please..."

"Why do you think I haven't signed it? That's the point I'm trying to make – some actions seem unforgivable on the surface, but it isn't that simple, is it? How can I judge any of you fairly without also considering your intentions, or all the good you've tried to do on my behalf?"

He paused, shaking his head with a rueful smile. "That doesn't mean I won't need time to adjust. Trust me, Merlin has a _ridiculous_ amount of explaining to do. But a merciful ruler should be willing to offer second chances... especially to those who've been instrumental in helping him save his kingdom on more than one occasion."

"That seems fair, sire."

"Does it? I'm glad you think so. As for you and Guinevere, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that banishment makes it easier for me to deal with everything that happened, but..."

"We'll be leaving on the morrow, sire. Neither of us expected to be permitted to stay here in light of our offenses against you. We only wanted to help in Camelot's time of need."

The king frowned. "I hardly think she should be doing much traveling in her condition. From what I understand, she's been instructed to stay in bed for the next several days."

Lancelot stared at him in shock as he rose to his feet. Gwen was injured? Why had he not even thought to mention that before now?

"It's all right, she's in no danger. I wanted to talk to you first to put your mind at ease, not make matters worse. Please, sit down so I can finish."

Barely suppressing a sigh of frustration, Lancelot sank back into his chair.

"As I was saying, under the circumstances, it would hardly be reasonable for me to send you away. Guinevere is going to need rest and care, not to be set adrift in the world where there might not be anyone around to help her when the time comes. I still... care about her enough that... well, what I'm trying to say is that I'm prepared to allow the two of you to stay. For the time being, at least."

Lancelot stared at him in disbelief. "I... are you sure?"

Arthur gave him a curt nod. "Understand that certain concessions will need to be made. I'm not quite ready to..."

"Of course, sire. Anything."

"First, I'm not in a position to restore your knighthood at this time. Perhaps in the future I might reconsider, but for now..."

"I understand."

"What I _can_ do is offer you a position as a guard, patrolling a portion of the outer walls from 10 o'clock in the morning to sunset six days a week. You won't receive as much pay as you did before, but..."

"I'll take it," Lancelot said hastily, trying to hide his excitement. "Thank you."

"Naturally, quarters in the palace are not provided for those of lesser rank, but Guinevere still has a home in the lower town. I trust that will be sufficient for you both?"

"Yes, of course."

"Very well. She can stay in the physician's quarters until she's recovered enough to be moved."

"Is that where she is now?" Lancelot asked him tentatively.

"Yes. Merlin insisted on treating her himself, may the fates help us all. You can go... and tell him I want to see him as soon as possible when you get there."

"Yes, sire. Thank you."

* * *

When Lancelot finally reached his destination, still panting from the exertion of a headlong flight through the corridors, the door was slightly ajar. Cautiously, he pushed it open and slipped inside, his eyes immediately falling upon the narrow bed on the other side of the room. Merlin glanced up at him as he approached, holding a finger to his lips.

"What happened?" Lancelot asked him in a hushed voice. "How is she?"

Deeply asleep, Gwen was lying on her back with her dark curls spread out across the pillow, a thick woolen blanket pulled all the way up to her chin. She looked normal aside from being a touch more pale than usual, but the bloodstained rags on the bedside table told a different story.

"She'll be all right," Merlin whispered. "The injury itself was superficial, although she did lose a fair amount of blood. I think it was the shock that hit her harder than anything else."

Lancelot swallowed hard, gently touching her face. "Where was she wounded?"

"On her right side. I think that's what scared her so badly, it being so close to the baby and all, but... are you okay?"

" _Baby?_ " he managed to choke out after a moment, feeling a little faint. "No, she can't be... she didn't..."

"Lancelot?" Merlin was beginning to sound alarmed. "Here, sit down. Let me get you something to drink."

He'd downed an entire cup of ale and was well into the second before he felt a bit more steady, part of him still convinced there must have been some kind of mistake. Rising to his feet again, he reached out and pulled the blanket down.

"Good lord..." he breathed in a shaky voice.

She was dressed in a chemise, which was pushed up to accommodate her heavily bandaged side. But it was her stomach that caught his attention, round and full, unmistakably pregnant... how in the hell had he not noticed?!

It came back to him then, the night of their wedding when he'd just assumed she'd put on a little weight. But she hadn't looked like _this_ , nowhere close to it, and that had only been what, a week ago? Two weeks?

"I don't understand," he said helplessly.

"You didn't know?"

Lancelot shook his head, running his hand over the firm swell as he tried to wrap his mind around the idea of a child growing inside her. "Maybe she didn't realize it either, but I don't see how..."

"She knew."

"Then why didn't she tell me?" he demanded a little more loudly than he'd intended. Gwen stirred, letting out a pained whimper as she shifted onto her uninjured side.

"Shhh," Merlin murmured, so low that Lancelot had to lean closer to hear him. "You can ask her that later. I've already had a midwife up to have a look, and she said Gwen needs all the rest she can get right now. There's still a chance she could lose the baby after the shock she's been through today."

Lancelot nodded, struggling to push his tangled feelings aside and think of larger concerns. "What else did she say?"

"She said Gwen is about five months along."

"Five months?!"

"Shhh! Yes. Let's see... she needs plenty of rest. Doesn't want her to leave her bed for a few days, other than to take care of personal needs. Oh, and if there's any bleeding, the midwife – damn, I can't remember her name – she said she's to be summoned immediately. Lives right next to the apothecary, across from the baker's shop."

Lancelot pulled the blanket down a little lower, letting out a sigh of relief as he inspected Gwen's snowy white undergarments. "Anything else?"

"There was something about..." Merlin frowned in concentration before his eyes lit up. "Oh yeah, that was it. Try not to upset her. The stress isn't good for the baby, especially after everything they've been through. And food. Forgot about that part."

"Food?"

"Yeah. She needs to eat a lot. Meat. Vegetables. That sort of thing. It'll help her recover her strength, and the baby needs it. There's some stew over there in the pot for when she wakes up. Um, I'll change her bandage again before I go."

Lancelot smacked his forehead. "I completely forgot. Arthur asked to see you as soon as possible."

Merlin's fingers started to tremble as he peeled back the heavy gauze, uncovering the gash that ran from the side of Gwen's ribcage to the top of her hip. It was an angry, jagged thing that looked quite painful, but it was indeed a fairly shallow cut. Lancelot closed his eyes, feeling a little faint again as he realized how close he'd come to losing both her and the baby that still didn't seem real. A little deeper, just a few inches over, and...

"She'll be all right," Merlin said, echoing his earlier words as he applied a fresh bandage then pulled the blanket back over her sleeping body.

"So will you," he responded, recognizing the fear in the other man's eyes. "Arthur seems to be taking it really well."

"Yeah, I don't know about that. Anyway, you can use my bed tonight. I know you'll want to stay with her, and I'll probably be sleeping in the dungeon for a long time to come."

"I highly doubt it. He wouldn't do that to you."

"We'll see."


	120. Little White Lies

#  **Chapter 120: Little White Lies**

* * *

"Mmmm…" Gwen hummed as she came back to consciousness, reaching down to feel the baby that was stirring inside her. But another hand, warm and intimately familiar, was already laying on her bare stomach, fingers twitching in response to a strong nudge from within.

Her eyes flew open, staring down in dismay at the dark head that was resting in her lap. Lancelot was seated in the chair beside her, hunched over in what appeared to be a terribly uncomfortable position.

He was fast asleep.

Oh no, this wasn't good. Not only did she have _a lot_ of explaining to do, but she desperately needed to relieve herself. One was unquestionably important, but the other sure as hell wasn't going to wait any longer.

Gingerly, she pushed herself up on her hands, biting her lip to avoid crying out as a sharp pain radiated through her wounded side. She eased Lancelot's head off her thigh and stuck a pillow beneath it, sighing in relief as he mumbled something unintelligible and went right back to sleep.

She was weary beyond belief, muscles still aching from the tremendous strain she'd put on them the day before. Nonetheless, she practically ran to the privy, groaning in near ecstasy as she emptied her bladder.

Moving much more sedately, she padded back across the room, stopping to lift the lid on the heavy iron pot, then letting out a soft sigh of appreciation as she breathed in the heavenly scent of beef and barley stew.

"What are you doing out of bed?"

She jumped, dropping the lid with a loud clatter. "I... I'm hungry."

Lancelot sounded even more exhausted than she felt when he said, "Come over here and lay back down. I'll fix you something to eat."

"It's all right, I'm already standing here."

"Gwen."

She kept her back to him, not wanting him to see the noticeable swell of her belly. Cursing under her breath, she tried to tug the chemise down, but it was a useless effort; it was already far too tight, bunched up around her breasts with no way to fit it over her heavily bandaged side.

It was absurd that she still felt the need to hide her body, since he obviously knew she was pregnant. But to show herself to him was like an admission of everything she'd done… keeping it a secret for so long and then risking both her life and the baby's in such a foolish endeavor. How could she expect him to forgive her for that, when she hadn't even begun to figure out how she was going to forgive herself?

"You're supposed to be in bed," he said tersely, and the frustration in his voice was what did it; without warning, she burst into tears.

"Oh, damn it," he swore under his breath, crossing the room with heavy footsteps as he made an effort to sound more gentle. "No, don't cry. Please. I wasn't supposed to upset you. I didn't mean…"

But she only cried harder, burying her face in her hands as her body shook with uncontrollable sobs. She could feel him hovering around her, obviously at a loss as to what he should do when she refused his attempt to pull her into his arms.

"Please, this isn't good for the baby."

Neither was being sliced up with a sword, but they'd managed to survive that, hadn't they? It hardly seemed like a bit of crying, hysterical or not, was going to hurt anything.

"Are you in pain?" he asked, sounding small and helpless. "Tell me what to do."

"I d-don't k-know."

"Shall I go find someone to help?"

" _No!_ "

"Then at least let me put you to bed. Please."

Too drained to argue, she allowed that much, distraught and no less bewildered than he was as he put an arm around her waist and guided her across the room. Slipping beneath the blanket, she shifted onto her uninjured side, thankful that it was the one facing away from him as she heard him drop heavily into his chair.

She didn't know how long she lay there weeping, lost to her grief and shame along with a great deal of confusion as to why she was so upset in the first place. Her tears seemed as if they'd never end, and all the while, Lancelot waited in silence, with one hand resting on her shaking shoulder.

Eventually, rational thought intruded and she began to understand her outburst. She was suffering through the aftermath of a brutal shock, not helped by weariness or the fact that all her emotions seemed so much more intense in her current condition. And there was the unspoken dread that lay beneath it all... the awful fear that he'd never be able to forgive her for what she'd done.

"You must hate me," she whispered, her voice muffled and shaky against the pillow.

"What? Gwen, I could never hate you."

"But you're angry with me."

He let out a heavy sigh. "I should be. Perhaps I was for a little while, but mostly I just don't understand. Why would you not tell me? And why would you do something so rash as insist on going into battle when you _knew_ you were...?"

"I don't know how to explain."

"Please try. Was it... did you not want our child? Were you hoping something might happen to make you lose it?"

"No!" she gasped, stunned by both the sheer amount of pain in his voice and the implication behind the words. Instinctively, her arms wrapped around her belly in a protective gesture. "No, I..."

"What?" he prompted, sounding carefully neutral.

She began to weep again, heaving with broken sobs as she realized the truth in the exact same moment that she told him. Yes, she'd craved the security of knowing she could protect herself, but there was another reason that had been so much bigger than that, one she hadn't even allowed herself to acknowledge until now.

"I j-just... wanted to c-come h-home. I... there w-was no other way. I didn't t-think about the d-danger, I just..."

"Oh, Gwen."

It was easier to stop crying when he leaned over her, lifting her as carefully as if she were made of glass, then settling them both on the edge of the bed. He cradled her in his arms like she was a child herself, murmuring soothing words as he rocked her back and forth.

"I did a f-foolish thing."

"No," he said gently, the words muffled as he pressed his mouth to the top of her head. "Well, yes... but I think I understand."

"You do?"

She felt him smile against her hair. "I've spent most of my life dreaming of Camelot... and the rest of it gladly willing to die to defend it if the need should arise. Rather how I feel about you, come to think of it."

Gwen sniffled. "Me too. I mean, I..."

"I know."

"I didn't even realize... whenever I started to feel homesick, I tried to ignore it. What was the point of longing for something I could no longer have?"

"Being rational doesn't make it go away," he said quietly, lifting his head to stare off into the distance. "Trust me, I've tried. When something feels _right_ , it's a part of you forever. You can't remove it from yourself, any more than you could hope to cut out your own heart and continue to live."

"Yes. The more I tried not to think about it, the more it intruded on my thoughts. And when I knew I was with child…"

"When did you know?" he interrupted, sounding slightly bewildered. "How? Because it wasn't noticeable at all, even just a couple weeks ago. And now..." he trailed off, reaching beneath the blanket to run his hand across her swollen belly.

She snorted in amusement. "Not noticeable? Easy for you to say. You weren't the one who was retching every morning and feeling famished by nightfall, crying for no reason, and..."

His eyes went wide as he peered down into her face. "When you were ill... the tea..."

"Yes."

"You've known since...?"

"The day Gwaine arrived in Oakview," she said quietly. "I was outside getting sick when Millie found me. She figured it out, even though I didn't believe her at first."

"But that was nearly two months ago, and you never..." He was back to sounding hurt, which made her feel terrible.

"Lancelot, I tried to tell you. It was just never the right time, or we were interrupted, or..."

"There's hardly such a thing as a wrong time when it comes to something this important."

Gwen sighed, swallowing the urge to cry again as he lowered her back onto the pillows, then stood and began pacing the floor.

"You were training with Gwaine," she told him, trying not to sound too defensive, "for weeks after I found out. Gone all day and too exhausted to do anything but sleep by the time you got back in the evening. When was I supposed to tell you?"

"You could've woken me up," he said stiffly, turning his back on her. "Or asked me to stay behind one morning so we could talk. I'd have done so without question if you'd told me you needed me. You can't pretend you don't know that."

Sitting up in bed, she held out her hands in a helpless gesture. "I tried to tell you on the way to Ealdor, but then Gwaine woke up, and..."

"You could've pulled me aside. All you had to do was..." He paused, letting out a frustrated sigh. "I think you didn't want me to know."

"No, I did! I just..." But she trailed off into silence upon the realization that he was right. "I _couldn't_."

He came back over to the bed, kneeling down to gaze at her with bewildered eyes. "Why? Did you think I wouldn't have found a way to provide for you and the child? Gwen, you have to know that I'd do anything..."

"No, it was nothing like that," she interrupted, suddenly understanding his reaction. His male pride was at stake, wounded by the belief that she'd found fault with him as a potential father. Well, she could ease his mind where that was concerned, even if she couldn't tell him the real reason she'd kept her silence for so long.

That reason was Camelot… the deep conviction that their baby should be born here and nowhere else. _That_ was what she'd been waiting for, a distant and likely futile hope that had urged her to hold out a little longer, to not even acknowledge her pregnancy until there was some small chance they might be able to come home. Rationally, she'd understood there was no delaying the inevitable… but what she'd felt in her heart was another matter entirely.

How could she tell him the truth? Was there a way to explain these feelings without putting him through a tremendous amount of guilt he'd done nothing to deserve?

No, there wasn't.

"Then why?" Lancelot asked her softly.

She sucked in a deep breath, prepared to lay it on thick. "I was afraid to tell you because I didn't feel ready to have a child," she lied smoothly. "What did I know about being a mother, when I couldn't even remember my own? What if I dropped the baby, or accidentally fed it poison, or... oh lord, what if it _hated_ me?"

One benefit of her pregnancy was that it was easy to squeeze out a few tears, even though she was laughing on the inside at his expression. It was the strangest combination of intense relief mingled with sympathy, along with a touch of outrage that had him sputtering out denials on her behalf before she could even finish.

"What...? No... how could you possibly think...?"

She affected a wan smile. "I don't. Not anymore. I... I guess I was just scared. I needed time to work through my fears and get used to the idea before I told you. I… well, perhaps it was wrong, but can you blame me for being a little afraid? It's not like I've ever been through this before."

He let out a heavy sigh, sinking back down onto the bed beside her and covering her hand with his own. "Blame you? No, of course I don't. I can't even begin to understand what it must be like to carry a child. I just wish I could've been there to help you somehow, to put your mind at ease, or..."

This time, her smile was genuine. "If it makes you feel better, I think the worst of it is still ahead. At least you'll have that to look forward to."

"Whatever you need, I'll..."

But the door opened before he could finish, startling them both as Merlin practically flew into the chamber.

"Sorry," he said breathlessly as he hurried over to the bed and began removing Gwen's bandage. "Meant to be here earlier, but Arthur's had me on the run all morning. Oh, it's looking a bit better. That's good. Lancelot, can you hand me that ointment? Thanks."

"What time is it?" Gwen asked him, trying not to squirm away from his cold fingers as he spread the soothing balm over her wound.

"Noon? No... must be closer to one o'clock by now."

"I'm guessing you didn't spend the night in the dungeon then?" Lancelot said, raising one eyebrow at him.

Merlin scoffed. "Almost wish I had. At least then I might've gotten some rest. He's yelling at me one minute, giving me the silent treatment the next, and somehow, he still manages to find more work for me than ten people could get done in twice the amount of time I have. Do you know he's already sent me to check on Princess Mithian five times this morning? _Five times!_ "

"Have you talked about the magic?" Gwen questioned as he finished applying her bandage and then strode over to the table. She watched him curiously as he pulled the lid off the pot she'd inspected earlier, trying to ignore a sharp pang of hunger as the heady aroma of stew filled the air.

"You haven't eaten?" he demanded, staring down into the pot as if the contents had done him a personal offense. "Lancelot, why haven't you fed her? I _told_ you…"

"It isn't his fault," she said hastily, not liking the guilty expression that suddenly appeared on Lancelot's face. "I wasn't that hungry, and we were talking, and…"

"Here," Merlin said brusquely, shoving a bowl of stew at each of them. "Looks like you both could use it. Oh, and Lancelot? Arthur wants you to help with the cleanup. He said to meet the others in the courtyard as soon as possible, so I'd finish that up and head on down there. I… uh, I'd better go. I need to check on Gaius before I finish cleaning the Council Chamber."

With that, he was gone even more abruptly than he'd arrived.

They ate in silence until Lancelot noticed Gwen had already finished, while his bowl was still half full. "Here, have the rest of mine," he said softly, spooning some rather delectable looking pieces of meat into her empty dish.

"No, that's all right. I…"

"Eat it," he insisted, rising to his feet and then reaching down to pull his boots on. "I should be going anyway. Finish that and then try to get a little more sleep if you can. Most of the cleanup will probably be in the lower town, but I'll make sure I'm back by this evening."

"The lower town?" she echoed, giving him a cautiously hopeful look. "Do you know what's become of my house? It was supposed to pass to Elyan, but I don't see where he would've had much use for it. Do you think my things might still be there? There isn't much, but I have my clothes and there's a little gold in a box under the bed."

"Gwen, we don't…"

"I just thought it would help when we have to leave again, since everything we had is still in Ealdor. Are we going back there, or...?"

He sat back down, taking her hand in his own. "I haven't had a chance to tell you, but... Gwen, we don't have to leave. Arthur has offered me a position guarding the outer perimeters, and he said your home is still available if we choose to live there. I don't know that this is permanent, but I think he at least means to allow us to stay until after the baby is born."

All she could do was stare at him with her spoon suspended in midair, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled for words that wouldn't come. "I… what?"

"That's how I felt when he told me. Naturally, I accepted his offer, but if you'd rather go back to Ealdor or Oakview…"

"Are you mad?" she sputtered, nearly dropping her bowl.

He smiled down at her as he rose to his feet again. "That's what I thought. Now then, I really should be going. I intend to do whatever I can to stay on Arthur's good side. If there's even a small hope..."

"I… yes, that seems wise," she said vaguely, staring beyond him.

"Be sure you get some rest."

She barely felt the kiss he brushed across her lips, or the gentle hand he laid on her stomach for a moment before he turned and walked to the door. There was only one thing she was waiting for – the soft sound of the latch as it clicked into place behind him.

As soon as she heard it, she burst into tears, not realizing someone else had slipped inside just as he was leaving.

"Hey, what's with all the caterwauling?"

She looked up to see a blurry green shape, topped by a smudge of bright red she would've recognized anywhere, even if the voice hadn't been so familiar. Wiping her eyes on the blanket, she smiled self-consciously as Millie's pert features came into focus.

"I'm sorry, I… Lancelot just told me that Arthur said we could stay until after I have the baby."

Millie frowned as she sat down on the side of the bed. "Yeah, I figured you'd be happy about that. Or is this one of those 'I'm pregnant and it makes me a little batty sometimes' sort of things?"

Gwen shook her head. "No, I'm incredibly happy. I just… I'm almost scared to let myself believe it."

"Expect you've had a lot to take in over the past couple days. Sure you need some time to adjust."

"Lancelot knows about the baby."

Millie rolled her eyes. "Obviously. Look at you… no, don't cover yourself up. Not trying to embarrass you, just saying a man would have to be blind not to see it now, especially with what you're wearing. Or _not_ wearing, as it were."

Gwen looked down at herself in dismay, running her hands over the pronounced swell that wasn't the least bit covered by her skimpy undergarments. Even worse was the scrap of a chemise that was bunched up beneath her breasts, which strained uncomfortably against the too tight fabric.

"I know," she moaned despairingly. "I miss my own clothes. I should have told Lancelot to stop by my house – our house – and find me something to wear."

"Think anything you've got there will fit you?"

"I have some nightgowns that are pretty loose," Gwen said thoughtfully, running her hands over her changing body. "And I can always make other things now that we're staying here. I... here in Camelot, where I'll be giving birth to our child when the time comes? I… I can scarcely believe it. It's like a dream."

"You're not the only one who's settling in for a while," Millie told her cheerfully.

"Really? That's wonderful! Did Gwaine ask you?"

The other woman sniffed, tossing her red hair over her shoulder. "He did. Offered to put me up and everything now that he's got that fancy knighthood to fall back on."

"Oh, that was nice of him."

"Nice?! He got smacked in the jaw for that one."

Gwen frowned in consternation. "Why would you do that?"

"Look," Millie said, her face suddenly serious. "You might have a man who'd saw his arm off if you asked him to do it, but most of the world doesn't work that way. Gave that whole love thing a try a few times myself and know what happened? Either left me high and dry or tried to order me around like I was some sort of slave. I'll be damned if I'm ever giving a man that kind of control over me again."

"I agree, but I don't think Gwaine would…"

"Maybe not, but why take the risk if I don't have to? A bit of fun and a good fuck when I want it is all I'm looking for. Can take care myself the rest of the time, and much better than any man could do."

"What are you planning then?" Gwen asked her curiously.

"Already went by that tavern in the lower town today. Do you know they offered me work before I could even ask for it? Seems they were a bit short on staff what with all the mass slaughter that's been going on around here lately. I start tomorrow night."

"Oh, that's great news! I mean, not the part about the slaughter, but you know…"

"Isn't it just? Said I could sleep upstairs, but I'll be saving my money to get me a little house just as soon as I can afford it. Been missing having my own place to come home to, you know?"

Gwen beamed up at her as she settled back into the pillows, fighting off a sudden wave of drowsiness. "Yes, I think I do."


	121. Falling into Place

#  **Chapter 121: Falling into Place**

* * *

Lancelot opened the front door and slipped inside, gazing around at the familiar surroundings as he deposited his parcels on the kitchen table and sat down on the bed.

It wasn't the first time he'd visited since their return. He'd stopped by to pick up clothing and other things for Gwen, had even started sleeping here upon her insistence that he couldn't spend every night slumped in a chair in the physician's chamber. She was right, of course, but that hadn't made it any less strange to be here without her.

She'd been staying in the palace for a little over two weeks, which had become more of an excuse for Merlin to fuss over her than anything else. He'd seemed to be trying to make up for something, which had bewildered Lancelot... until the day he'd awoken from a nap to hear the two of them having a heartfelt conversation about the past. He hadn't been able to make out most of it, but the regret in Merlin's soft voice had been clear enough to understand.

As of today, however, the time for stalling was over. Gaius was fully recovered and ready to return to his own quarters, and although Arthur had said nothing about Gwen's extended stay, it wouldn't be good to push his limits. Lancelot was to return in a few hours and escort her home, but first he'd wanted to stop by and make sure everything was in order.

He'd only planned on cleaning up a bit, replenishing supplies, and preparing something for her to eat when she arrived, since she always seemed to be ravenous these days. But it was suddenly difficult to focus on practical matters when he really _looked_ at his surroundings for the first time, not expecting to be overwhelmed by a dozen memories that slammed into him all at once.

Just a few paces away was where he'd stood on the day they'd met nearly ten years before, a nervous young man who'd been dazed by her beauty as she'd taken his measurements. It was the same spot where she'd helped him into the first armor he'd ever worn, once and then again just a couple nights later when he'd somehow found the courage to take her in his arms for the first time.

And then the memories shifted, clearer recollections of a more recent time rather than the soft haze of a distant past. He glanced over at the table and saw her sitting there, her eyes full of fury and betrayal as he'd confessed the truth of why he'd left her. He remembered the way she'd raged at him for the fool he'd been, the sharp sting of her slap against his cheek... but much more than that, he recalled the stunning realization that she'd still loved him despite it all.

That same table was where she might've lost her innocence if he hadn't found the restraint to carry her to the bed, driven half mad by a desire that had gone unfulfilled for what had seemed like a lifetime. Running his hand across the blankets, he imagined her lying there naked, shy and uncertain, gasping in surprise as she'd taken him into herself for the first time.

He let out a frustrated groan as he felt himself grow hard, which wasn't helped by subsequent memories of all the other times they'd made love in her bed. Forcing himself to rise, he stocked the kitchen with the supplies he'd brought, wiped a thick layer of dust off the furniture, then scrubbed the floor almost feverishly, struggling to ignore his arousal until it faded away.

When he finally turned around with a basket of clean linens, he saw something completely different, making him smile as he stripped off the sheets and replaced them with fresh ones.

This was no longer just a place to share forbidden passion. It was the bed where she'd fall asleep in his arms every night and wake up to his kisses each morning, where she'd be laying when she brought their child into the world. It was here that she'd find safety and comfort, pleasure and joy for the next few months… and for the rest of her life if everything worked out the way he hoped it would.

Frowning, he stared down at the narrow mattress. That was an awful lot of expectation to put on something so small. Sentimental value or not, surely they needed something bigger if they were to stay here? Not that he minded the close confines, but with the way her belly was growing, she'd certainly need more in the way of space and comfort.

He withdrew the handful of silver coins he'd had left after purchasing food and other supplies. How much did a bed cost anyway? More than he had, no doubt, but he'd only been paid once since starting his new position, and had already written to Ealdor to insist that Hunith keep the gold they'd left behind in gratitude for her kindness.

"Damn," he muttered to himself, shoving the money back in his pocket and grabbing for the broom to clear the cobwebs from under the bed.

Then he remembered something else, just as the bristles scraped against a heavy wooden box. Dropping to his knees, he pulled it out and removed the top, reaching for the small leather pouch that contained her savings. She'd been right – it wasn't much, but hopefully it would at least be enough for what he had in mind.

Pocketing the gold, he started to close the lid when something else caught his eye... a small square of orange fabric that was carefully tucked away beneath a handful of letters. Unfolding it, he stared in disbelief at the familiar sigil, tracing his finger over the tiny stitches. All these years… she'd saved this?

That wasn't the only memento she'd held onto either. She still had the blue homespun shirt he'd worn upon coming to Camelot, and lying just beneath it was something that sparkled in the late afternoon sunlight as he looked down at it with awestruck eyes. It was the necklace he'd given her the first time he'd left, along with the farewell letter he'd nearly forgotten about.

Unable to restrain his curiosity, he unfolded the yellowed parchment and began to read. Most of it left him shaking his head at how pompous he'd sounded in his younger years, but one part stood out above all the others:

_Do not wait for me. Do not put your life on hold or sacrifice even a moment of happiness for my sake. If it is our fate to find one another again someday, I have to believe we will._

He smiled as he tucked it away, at last given closure to the one lingering doubt he'd had. Would she have eventually forgotten him if he'd never returned, satisfied with a different and perhaps better life than the one he could've given her?

No. She'd been telling the truth when she'd said her feelings would never fade. Through it all, she'd held onto a part of him, never letting go even when it must've seemed there wasn't a ghost of a chance he'd ever return. Of course, she'd tried to tell him that herself, but seeing tangible evidence that she'd never stopped loving him was something else entirely.

The words he'd said to her much more recently came back to him then, his response when she'd told him of the longing for Camelot that had driven her to risk her life simply to have the chance to see it one last time.

"When something feels _right_ , it's a part of you forever. You can't remove it from yourself, any more than you could hope to cut out your own heart and continue to live."

His first impulse was to share the awe he felt upon the realization that her love truly ran as deep as his own. But no... the past lay behind them now, along with all the uncertainties, regrets, and fears they'd both endured during their long separation. Best to leave it where it belonged, to turn his eyes to a brighter future where there was no longer any need to question such things.

The years to come were sure to bring new challenges, of course, times of darkness that would require a great deal of strength and courage to make it through to the other side. But they'd face them all together, never to be parted again for the rest of their lives.

* * *

"Discreet, eh?"

"Pardon?" Lancelot frowned over his shoulder at Gwaine, who was standing behind him wearing an obnoxious grin.

"Said your plan was to be as discreet as possible so as not to ruffle Arthur's feathers. Not sure carrying a bed around on your back is the best way to accomplish that."

"I've got to get it home somehow."

Gwaine nodded. "Figured that much. Want some help?"

"That would be wonderful," Lancelot said, turning around to pay the seller. "Thank you."

"Right. You grab the frame there and I'll get the mattress."

It was awkward work, but they made it through the streets without too much trouble, panting heavily by the time the job was finished. Sitting down at the kitchen table to rest, Lancelot wiped the sweat from his forehead as Gwaine glanced around the little room.

"Big enough for two, no doubt, but have you thought about what you'll do in the future? Not sure this place can handle a growing family."

Lancelot sighed, pouring a cup of wine and handing it to his friend. "First, I don't even know if we'll be allowed to stay here after the baby comes. Arthur said..."

Gwaine rolled his eyes. "What Arthur says and what he does are two different things. In case you haven't noticed, he's already getting used to having the two of you around. Looking a lot less grim these days, always off hunting with Mithian or giving Merlin a hard time. He..."

"How's that going anyway?" Lancelot interrupted. "The magic, and..."

"Know what I think? I've got a feeling that Arthur's known all along, just wouldn't admit it to himself. Too many things over the years that had no other explanation, eh?"

"He's being awfully hard on Merlin."

Gwaine chuckled, raising the cup to his lips. "Of course he is. He might've grown up a bit after all that business with Agravaine, but one thing will never change. Doesn't have it in him to just tell Merlin he's hurting over not being trusted and the secrecy and all. He'll take it out on him instead, constant insults and extra work..."

That's not fair," Lancelot said quietly, tracing his finger around a ring of condensation on the table. "After everything Merlin has done for him..."

"Maybe. But you know, I think it works for them. Merlin looks happier these days, even if he is a bit more tired than usual. Back to giving what he gets, instead of seeming all terrified like he did right after the battle. Yesterday, I even heard him tell Arthur he'd turn him into a toad if he made him clean the stables again."

"Really?"

"Sure did. Hell, can any of us really understand what goes on between two people if we don't happen to be one of them?"

Lancelot frowned thoughtfully. "No, I suppose not."

"Right. I'm betting it makes no sense to you that I can't get enough of a certain redhead who likes to smack me around and give me hell all the time."

"If that's what makes you happy…"

"Not what I mean. Supporting someone's choice is quite different than understanding the appeal. Admit it – you don't."

Shaking his head, Lancelot gave him a rueful smile. "No. I'd rather chew my own arm off than be involved with Millie. I can't even begin to imagine why you enjoy that sort of thing."

Gwaine shrugged. "Everything she does makes sense to me. Suppose that's the one thing I've never found in a woman. Doesn't hide anything she is, the good or the bad."

"Do you think you'll marry her?"

"Ah, just as I said… you'll never understand. You, my friend, are a born romantic. Me? I'm just greedy. I take what I can get when I can get it, and that's enough for me. Nice to have a woman who feels the same way."

Lancelot smiled, rising to check on the stew he'd set to simmer earlier that afternoon. "If she makes you even half as happy as I am with Gwen, I'm glad for you."

"Makes me pretty damn horny, which amounts to the same thing," Gwaine said, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin. "Oh, don't look at me like that. Might be too polite to say so, but you're just as bad as I am. If I had a gold coin for every time I've noticed you staring at Gwen's tits, looking like a wolf with a fresh kill…"

"What?! I don't… you shouldn't…"

"Shouldn't what?"

"Talk about my wife that way," Lancelot said stiffly. "It's not appropriate."

Gwaine scoffed. "Nothing wrong with admiring a beautiful woman, my friend. Or enjoying all the pleasures she has to offer, for that matter. Hell, isn't that why we just spent half the afternoon dragging that bed up here?"

"That isn't for…"

"Sure it isn't. Like the two of you aren't going to be tangled up on that mattress by the end of the night, sweating and moaning and…"

"Am I going to have to throw you out?"

"Ah, settle down," he said carelessly. "Come have another drink. You know why I say things like that, don't you? Not my fault it's so easy to get a rise out of you."

Lancelot shook his head in exasperation, accepting the fresh cup of wine that was waiting for him at the table. "You really are a pain sometimes."

"So are you. One of my favorite things about you, to tell you the truth. Anyway, you never did answer my earlier question."

Frowning, Lancelot struggled to remember. "You mean about the house?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"I… I haven't really thought about it. I'm a little attached to this place, which is even more true for Gwen. I'd rather not leave until we have no other choice."

Gwaine leaned forward, giving him a serious look. "I just wanted you to know that if it comes to that, I'm here to help. Plenty of gold saved up with not much to spend it on. All you have to do is ask."

"No, I couldn't…"

"Sure you could. If it rankles your pride that much, just call it a loan and pay me back when you can. But you've got more to think about than just yourself now, you know."

"Thank you," Lancelot said quietly, giving him a small smile. "You're a good friend. You always have been. Everything you've done for me, for us… I…"

Gwaine shifted in his chair, looking both pleased and just the slightest bit uncomfortable. "Now don't start with all that. You'd have done the same – say otherwise, and I'll call you a damn liar. We look out for one another, remember? Way it's always been."

"Yes, that's true. I just wish I was in a position to do more in return."

"There will come a day. Always does. And in the meantime, you can start by pouring me a little more of that wine."

They drank in silence for a time before Lancelot spoke again. "Gwaine?"

"Hmmm?"

"Do you really think it's possible that Arthur will allow us to stay for good? I'm doing everything I can, working hard and trying to avoid anything that might remind him of… what I did to betray him, but I'm still not sure. It seems presumptuous to even hope for such a thing after everything that happened."

"Possible?" Gwaine said thoughtfully. " _Probable_ is more like it. For all Arthur's flaws, he has a forgiving heart. Funny thing is, deep down, the two of you are a lot more alike than you probably realize. He may not say so, but I think it's harder for him to get over what almost happened to the two of you after the fact than what you actually did."

"How are we alike?" Lancelot interrupted, toying with his empty cup.

Gwaine gave him an apologetic smile. "If either of you can find a way to blame yourself for something, you will. I don't think Arthur can separate Agravaine from the rest of it, and he takes the responsibility for that squarely on his own shoulders. Doesn't leave him much room to dwell on the fact that hey, you would've stolen his woman either way."

" _Gwaine!_ I didn't steal… well, I guess I did, but…"

"Eh, I'm just giving you a hard time. Anyway, I don't think you have anything to worry about. I can't see him letting you settle in for a few months just to banish you all over again. However he feels about everything, he's not that callous."

"I hope you're right," Lancelot murmured, gazing around the room. "We'd make the best of it either way, but Camelot is home to us both."

Gwaine nodded in understanding. "Speaking of home, I should be getting over to the tavern soon. Millie will water my ale if I show up late, and then she'll charge me twice as much for the privilege of drinking it."

"Isn't it a bit early…?"

"About half past nine, I expect."

"Damn." Lancelot smacked his forehead as he rose out of his chair. "I told Gwen I'd be there at seven."

"I wouldn't worry about that. Ran into Elyan right before I saw you and he mentioned he was on the way to see her. I'm sure they had a lot to talk about."

"Elyan?" Lancelot swore under his breath. "If he says anything to upset her, I'll…"

"Not likely. The time he spent under Morgana's enchantment has had the strangest effect on him."

"What do you mean?"

"Seems to have turned him into a decent human being. Ironic, eh?"


	122. Home at Last

#  **Chapter 122: Home at Last**

* * *

"What did he say?" Millie frowned at Gwen, reaching over to grab a handful of strawberries from the platter that was balanced on her stomach.

"He told me he was deeply sorry for the way he'd treated me, and that he'd spend the rest of his life making it up to me if I'd allow it."

"Did you tell him he could go fuck himself?"

Gwen shook her head with a rueful smile. "No. He's still my brother."

"Doesn't make him any less of a jackass if you ask me. No, more like a festering scab on the ass of a…"

"You don't know what he went through when he was enchanted. He was aware of his actions, just couldn't do anything to stop himself. He actually cried when he talked about the day I was almost executed, telling me how terrified he was that he'd be forced to watch me burn. They made him do terrible things, like killing all those guards so they could blame it on Lancelot, and... well, he wouldn't tell me the rest, but he's still pretty shaken."

Millie looked at her skeptically. "Maybe calling him a festering scab is a bit too strong, but he's still…"

"Selfish? Insensitive? I know. And I don't expect that will ever completely change, but he's grown up a lot after what he went through."

"What about you and Lancelot? He wasn't enchanted when he was such a shit to you about that, was he?"

Gwen let out a long sigh. "Elyan said he still doesn't like the idea of me being with Lancelot, but if that's truly my choice, he'll do his best to accept it."

"His best?" Millie snorted, grabbing for a slice of apple. "Pompous little…"

"You're really hard on people you don't know."

"No, just protective of the few I think are worth a damn."

"Fair enough," Gwen conceded, in too good of a mood to argue the point. "Are you going to eat all of my fruit? I'm pregnant, you know."

"You going to start using that as an excuse for everything?"

"As often as I can get away with it."

Millie rose to her feet, reaching down to pull on her shoes. "So you made peace with your brother, of a sort anyway. That Merlin is falling all over himself trying to make amends, and the king… well, who knows what he's thinking? But at least he doesn't seem to be bothered by having you around, eh? Everything's working out pretty well for you."

Gwen smiled up at her, nibbling on a strawberry. "I just hope it lasts."

"Well, this job of mine isn't going to last if I don't get down there soon. Didn't realize how late it was."

"What time is it?"

"A few minutes before nine."

"That late? Lancelot was supposed to be here almost two hours ago."

"Maybe he ran off with another woman."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "Very funny."

"Yeah, I thought so. I'll see you later."

It took every bit of restraint Gwen had to stop herself from giggling as Millie sauntered out of the chamber, giving Gaius a saucy smile as he entered at the same time she was leaving. The elderly physician stared after her for a long moment, then closed the door wearing a bewildered expression.

"Who was that?"

* * *

It was nearly ten o'clock by the time Lancelot showed up, filled with apologies but with no explanation for his tardiness. Gwen didn't chastise him; she was too happy to finally be going home to worry about much of anything beyond the desire to get there as soon as possible.

Of course, that was easier said than done. Her belly had grown significantly during her weeks of recovery, round and heavy beneath the thick velvet cloak she was wearing. It also didn't help that she'd grown unaccustomed to any activity more strenuous than crossing the chamber to the privy or leaving her bed for a few hours to sit at the table.

"Would you like me to carry you?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed, trying not to make it too obvious that she was already panting as they descended the palace steps. "I'm pregnant, not crippled."

All the same, she was grateful to have his arm for support, strong and unyielding as they made their way through the deserted streets. It seemed to take forever to get there, but at long last, she was standing outside her front door, waiting none too patiently as he fiddled with the latch.

"Oh..."

The room was softly illuminated by candles, spotless right down to the crisp laundered curtains and freshly scrubbed floors. A pot was simmering on the stove, filling the air with the mouthwatering fragrances of pork and stewed apples, and there was even a chipped pitcher in the middle of the table, filled with a profusion of brightly colored wildflowers.

"You did all this?"

He wrapped his arms around her from behind, pressing his lips against her hair. "I did. Does it please you?"

"Oh, it's absolutely lovely, I... Lancelot, what happened to my bed?" She frowned in consternation, staring at an object that was much too large covered by a quilt she didn't recognize, softly patterned in shades of the deepest blues and greens.

"I thought we needed something bigger now that we'll both be sleeping here."

"Of course, I... yes, that makes sense."

"You're upset," he stated, and she could feel him frowning behind her.

"No, I just..." She shook her head emphatically, trying to keep the tears in her eyes from spilling over. It was only a bed, and he was right – hers had been much too small for them both.

But it had been _hers_ , the one safe place she'd had to depend on for years beyond counting, offering shelter and comfort even in the darkest times. Silly or not, the idea of being in that bed while she gave birth to her child had made it seem much less frightening, even when she thought about all the pain she'd have to endure in the process.

"Gwen, it's still here." He strode across the room and lifted the blankets to expose the twin beds underneath, fitted side by side. "I didn't have enough gold to pay for a full replacement, so this seemed like the next best solution."

Beaming, she took off her cloak and joined him, sinking down onto the familiar mattress with a soft sigh of relief. "Can we keep it this way?"

He smiled as he sat down beside her, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. "We can do anything you want."

"Anything?"

"Anything," he confirmed. "Why, what did you have in mind?"

Her response was bold to the point of being brazen, but after having gone a month without him combined with the physical cravings the midwife had warned her might be more intense, she wasn't exactly in the mood for subtlety. She slid her hand up the inside of his thigh, feeling him instantly respond to her touch as she rubbed him through his trousers.

He sucked in a sharp breath. "Is it safe for us to...?"

"Of course it is. It's actually supposed to be good for me, as long as I'm comfortable." She paused to unlace him, pulling out his heavy erection and cradling it in her palm. "Unless you don't want to, of course, but it seems to me..."

"No, I do," he said hastily, beginning to pant as she wrapped her fingers around him, stroking him with a slow, gentle rhythm. "I do, I just... oh lord..."

She'd knelt between his thighs before he could finish, taking him into her mouth with a low moan of pleasure. Not having realized how much she'd missed the taste of him and the sound of his helpless groans, she sucked him greedily, bringing him right to the brink before he made a weak attempt to stop her.

"Gwen," he whispered, his voice hoarse and unsteady. "I can't... I'm about to..."

But it was too late; he let out a cry of surrender mingled with ecstasy, hips twitching erratically as he spilled himself in her mouth. She smiled to herself as she rose to her feet a moment later, sliding her arms around him as he leaned forward to rest his head between her breasts.

"I'm sorry, I..."

"Shhh," she murmured, stroking his sweat dampened hair. "It's been a long time."

"I'll make it up to you," he promised, his lips tickling her sensitive skin in a way that made her shiver. "Just give me a few minutes, and... was that your stomach?"

She blushed, taking a quick step backward. "Yes. I'm starving."

"Of course you are," he said as he started to rise. "I should've already..."

But she placed a hand on his chest and pushed, giggling as he tumbled back onto the bed with a surprised grunt.

"You've done enough today," she told him as she headed to the kitchen and fixed a bowl for each of them. "I don't need you to wait on me hand and foot."

By the time she turned around, he'd shed everything but his trousers, which were pulled up but still partially unlaced as he reclined against the pillows with his hands behind his head. His dark hair was tousled, soft brown eyes watching her almost lazily as she set their food on the table.

"Are you going to join me?"

"I thought you didn't want me to get up." His expression was completely innocent, other than one corner of his mouth that was twitching ever so slightly.

"Fine, I'll just eat all of it myself," she said as she settled herself into a chair, making a good show of ignoring him until he rose with a sigh of mock defeat and padded across the room. They ate in silence, mostly because she was too absorbed in the meal to think of anything else. He was a much better cook than she would've expected, leading her to wonder what other surprises she had yet to discover now that they were truly living together.

"Do you like it?" he asked her quietly.

She nodded. "Where did you learn to cook like this?"

"Truth?"

"Of course."

He glanced down at his bowl, scooping up a large slice of apple. "Gwaine taught me."

"Gwaine?!"

"Yes. I was hopeless before he came along. I could fight, of course, but most other things were beyond me."

She frowned, studying his face as if it held all the answers she was looking for. The questions were on the tip of her tongue, but it wasn't the time… not when he was already on his feet, clearing the dishes away and asking if she wanted more. She shook her head, rising from the table to wrap her arms around him from behind.

"I love you," she murmured, resting her cheek against his bare back. "And you've never been hopeless. Not to me."

He started to say something then changed his mind as he turned around to face her, his eyes filled with a response he didn't need to put into words. And then she forgot all about her curiosity as he cradled her face in his hands, dipping his head for a soft, lingering kiss.

"Let's go to bed," he whispered against her lips.

His trousers were gone by the time they got there, her dress already unfastened and falling to the floor at her feet. But it wasn't until she was lying against the pillows with his eyes roaming over her naked body that she was overwhelmed by a rush of insecurity, moving her arms in a futile attempt to cover her swollen breasts and belly.

"I'm…" But she didn't know how to finish the sentence. Awkward? Ungainly? Unable to imagine that the sight of her could be the least bit arousing?

"Beautiful," he said softly.

He was shaking his head as he moved her arms to her sides, leaning over to draw a nipple into his mouth and teasing it with the tip of his tongue. Burying her fingers in his hair, she surrendered with a shuddering sigh, moaning softly as he caressed her stomach and hips, then stroked her inner thighs as they parted beneath his touch.

It seemed to last for hours, just lying there in a haze of pleasure as he worshiped her with his hands and mouth. He didn't seem to be in any hurry, bringing her to completion once and then again before he whispered in her ear, his voice husky with desire.

"How do you want me?"

She was confused at first, opening eyes that were drowsy with satisfaction to gaze up into a pair that were smoldering with need. But then she understood, shifting onto her side as he let out a groan of approval, then pressed himself flush against her and entered her from behind.

Obviously still determined to take his time, he set a pace that was slow and deep, drawing a low moan from her throat with each penetration. Her leg was soon draped over his, her body quivering in response to his ragged breath in her ear as his hand slid over her hip, caressing the swell of her belly before moving up to rub her breasts with his warm, callused palm.

"Kiss me," he murmured, increasing the friction between them when she turned her head to meet his lips. His kisses were hot and hungry, muffled groans making it clear that the last of his restraint was fading away as his fingers dipped between her thighs. She whimpered into his mouth when he found the right spot, rubbing it feverishly as she writhed against him.

"One more time," he demanded, and she cried out in response, burying her face in the pillow as her release flooded through her in wave after wave of pure ecstasy. She was so lost to her pleasure that she hardly noticed when he followed just behind, letting out a shuddering groan that sounded a lot like her name as his muscles went rigid and then finally relaxed.

When she came back to herself a few minutes later, she was wrapped in his arms with her head resting on his shoulder, still panting softly as he rubbed her back in soothing circles.

"That was..." she trailed off, unable to think of how to describe it.

"Worth waiting for?" he said quietly, and somehow they both knew he was speaking of so much more than their most recent bout of lovemaking.

"Absolutely," she smiled as her eyes drifted closed, feeling his heart beating in perfect time with her own. She was so drowsy that she was already half dreaming when it happened, but all it took was a gentle nudge from within to bring her back to full awareness.

"Lancelot?"

"Hmmm?" he mumbled in a sleepy voice.

"The baby's moving."

He opened his eyes at that, having either been asleep or out on patrol every time it had occurred over the previous couple of weeks. Silently, he watched as she took his hand and pressed it against the swell, his face breaking into a huge grin as he felt what she did – a series of gentle ripples and tiny bumps.

"He's strong," she told him, suppressing a yawn. "He'll be a fighter like you."

Lancelot frowned, staring at her belly for a long moment before looking up at her face. "How do you know it's a boy?"

"Just a feeling. Why, does it matter?"

He kissed her tenderly before laying his head back down and closing his eyes. "Not in the least. As long as… safe… healthy…"

With an incoherent mumble, the battle was lost. She smiled to herself as she listened to the sound of his soft breathing, her hand still cradling her stomach as she slipped out of bed and padded over to the window.

The moon was full and bright, bathing the city in gentle hues of blue and silver. It was the kind of night that was so silent, so deeply serene that it would be easy to believe nothing bad could ever happen in this place. Of course, she knew otherwise… life had taught her that chaos could strike at any moment, no matter where she happened to be.

But that was the thing about Camelot. A thousand armies might invade or it could be burned to its very foundations, and it would still bring her a promise of safety, a deep sense of belonging that no power on earth could ever hope to conquer. Camelot was eternal, as much a part of her as the heart that beat in her chest or the blood in her veins that gave her life.

There was only one other place that made her feel that way, as if being there was as natural as taking her next breath. That was in the arms of the man she loved, strong, comforting arms that reached for her by instinct when she finally crawled beneath the blankets again and snuggled up against his warm, slumbering body.

Whatever darkness lay behind, no matter what the future might bring, only one thing mattered in this moment... a single truth that made everything else seem irrelevant as she drifted off to sleep in her own bed with Lancelot there beside her.

At long last, she was home.


	123. Epilogue: A Golden Age (Part One)

#  **Epilogue: A Golden Age (Part One)**

* * *

_Several Months Later…_

"How are you feeling?"

Gwen clung to Lancelot's arm as they made slow progress through the city streets, meeting his look of concern with a scowl. "Are you going to keep asking me that all day?"

"Probably."

"Well, if you really want to know, my feet hurt, my back hurts… come to think of it, _everything_ hurts. I haven't had a good night's sleep in weeks, either because this baby won't stop kicking me or I'm having to get up to relieve myself every five minutes. I keep crying over the silliest things, and no matter how much I eat, I'm always hungry."

"Would you like me to make you some spiced apples when we get home? Or I can rub your feet or your back, or…"

"Tired of apples," she said irritably.

"Anything else you want then."

"Pheasant."

"Pheasant?" he echoed, looking down at her in surprise. "I… ah, I'll see what I can do."

She let out a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be so out of sorts. I just don't understand why we have to come all the way down here today."

"I know. I tried to get you out of it. Really, I did. But Arthur insisted."

"You don't think it's anything bad, do you? I _really_ hope he's not planning to banish us again."

"No," Lancelot said firmly. "He wouldn't do that. Not when you're just days away from..."

But she wasn't listening. "I keep having nightmares that I'm giving birth in the strangest places... like on the side of the road or in a stable somewhere. I even dreamed I was locked in the dungeon when the baby started to come. I called for help and saw Morgana jeering at me through the bars, telling me I was going to die as she pulled out a dagger…"

"That's not going to happen," he hastily interrupted, putting his arm around her waist to guide her up the palace steps. "You'll be safe in our bed when the time comes and I'll be there beside you. No one will hurt you, I promise."

"The baby's going to hurt me," she said darkly, pausing to catch her breath. "Quite a lot, I imagine."

"I…" But he had no response for that. It hadn't seemed so frightening when it had still been months away, a hazy vision of her laying down for a few hours and then rising with a child in her arms and a smile on her face. But then the weeks had passed and her belly had continued to grow, so large now that he couldn't begin to fathom how something that size was going to fit through such a small opening.

He'd tried asking questions, but that had only resulted in horrifying tales of labor lasting for two or even three days, women bleeding and tearing and suffering through excruciating pain in the process. Even Gwaine hadn't been able to put his mind at ease on the subject.

"Only saw it once, but that's not the kind of thing a man ever forgets," he'd said, looking distant and grim.

"Who was she?"

"Just a barmaid. To tell you the truth, I don't even remember her name. She was going through it upstairs in a tavern I was visiting, and the bastards kicked her out. Said she was scaring away the customers with her screaming and carrying on."

Lancelot had stared at him in shock. "What did you do?"

"Only thing I could. It was out in the middle of nowhere, no one else around who might've been able to help. Carried her into a barn nearby and stayed with her until she managed to push it out. Did what I could for her, but what the hell did I know?"

"How bad was it?"

Gwaine had avoided his eyes. "You don't want to know. Trust me on that."

Lancelot came back to the present as Gwen tugged on his arm, making a passable attempt at a smile as she nodded at the large double doors in front of them. 

"We're here."

"Are you sure you're all right?" he murmured, not liking the dark circles under her eyes or the tension in her face that made it abundantly clear she was in pain.

"I'm fine," she insisted, though her voice sounded strained. "It's just my back."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Let's just get this over with so I can go home and lay down."

Neither of them were expecting what they saw as Lancelot pushed open the doors and escorted her into the hall, however. It was full of familiar faces, but that wasn't what captured their attention. There was a round table in the center of the room, a massive piece of furniture made of polished oak and surrounded by what must've been twenty chairs, possibly even more.

"Now that we're all here," Arthur announced, giving them a pointed look. "I'd like to present you all with something very special. I'm hoping it will become both the practical method and a symbol for how I choose to rule Camelot from this day forward."

Lancelot was only half listening as he scanned the other occupants of the room. There were knights dressed in full regalia, but only those who were considered to be of the highest standing among their peers. Behind them were a few court officials, along with a scattering of visitors who appeared to be of noble rank.

Arthur was at the center of them all with Merlin on one side and Princess Mithian on the other, their expressions solemn and respectful as they listened to his speech.

"Even the greatest king cannot rule alone, nor can he elevate the opinion of one above the rest if he hopes to maintain a true sense of justice in his kingdom. That is why this table exists – a place where every man will have an equal say in matters of state, and no policy will be put into place that isn't acceptable to all. Gaius? Take your seat."

The old man shuffled forward, hesitating only briefly before lowering himself into a chair.

"Sir Leon, Sir Gwaine, Sir Elyan, Sir Percival?" Arthur favored the knights with a warm smile. "This should bring back memories. Please, come forward."

Lancelot watched quietly as his former brothers in arms positioned themselves at the table, followed by a handful of advisors and other court officials. The chairs were swiftly filled, until only three aside from the one Arthur would occupy remained empty.

It was a bittersweet moment, to say the least. He could only assume that his and Gwen's presence here was an effort on Arthur's part to make amends for what they'd suffered under the tyranny of Agravaine, to assure them both that something like that would never happen again.

But it was still painful to be an outsider. Realizing that Arthur was finally becoming the king he'd always longed to serve left Lancelot feeling hollow inside, knowing he could no longer hope to be a part of this glorious new age that was unfolding before his eyes. He was only an ordinary guard now, part of the lowest rank without even the privilege of wearing a red cape as he patrolled a remote corner of the city perimeters that was unlikely to ever see any action.

Useless. Irrelevant. It hurt to feel that way, to be haunted by wasted chances and countless regrets he'd always tried to push aside with the reminder that it was worth everything he'd sacrificed and more to be with the woman he loved. In truth, he couldn't question that decision, shrank from the vaguest thought of any future he might've chosen that hadn't included her.

And yet to dream of another life where he might've had both, the chance to love and to serve in equal measures... in times like these, he couldn't help himself.

"Are you all right?"

It was Gwen who asked the question this time, gazing up at him with eyes full of concern as she slipped her hand in his. She must've known what he'd be feeling in this moment, a realization that filled him with a deep sense of shame. What right did he have to wish for anything beyond what he already had, when that alone was so much more than he could've ever hoped for?

"I'm fine," he said, giving her a reassuring smile.

"Merlin?" Arthur's voice rang out as he pulled Excalibur from its sheath, drawing their attention back to the ceremony. "Kneel."

"Finally decided to cut my head off then?"

" _Shut up!_ " Lancelot heard Arthur hiss under his breath, just before he resumed his regal facade and addressed the waiting crowd.

"In Camelot, there is no greater virtue than loyalty. Loyalty is to be rewarded, even and perhaps especially when it comes from the most unexpected places."

Merlin stared up at him, his blue eyes filled with awe and disbelief as the shining blade touched him on one shoulder and then the other.

"Arise, Sir Merlin, Knight of Camelot."

Lancelot smiled as Merlin took a seat next to Gaius, cheeks turning red in response to the enthusiastic applause. It was easy to forget his own conflicted emotions as he saw the joy on his friend's face, a deep sense of belonging that had never existed there before. Yes, this was exactly how he'd always wanted..

"Lancelot?"

Startled, he glanced up at Arthur. "Sire?"

"Come forward."

* * *

The pain hit her again and she finally realized what it was, wincing and biting her lip as she pressed a hand to her lower back in an attempt to ease the pressure. _Oh lord, not now..._

But then she remembered what the midwife had told her, explaining labor was likely to last for quite a few hours, and that her contractions would be very strong and close together before there was any need to prepare for the process of actually giving birth.

This wasn't so bad; she took a deep breath and rode out the discomfort, reassured by the fact that she'd felt the last one while they'd still been outside on the palace steps. She still had plenty of time, and whatever was about to happen was far too important to...

"It's been a rough year in Camelot," Arthur's voice boomed out across the crowd. "Some have disappointed our expectations, while others have exceeded them. You, Lancelot, have somehow managed to do both."

Gwen watched breathlessly as her husband ducked his head in silent acknowledgment.

"We all make mistakes, have lapses in judgment, and can sometimes be blind to the consequences of our actions. Never is this more true than when our hearts are on the line, pushing us to reach for the one thing that should be avoided at all costs. I will not lie and say that it wasn't devastating to be on the receiving end of such a folly, but…"

"Forgive me, sire," she heard Lancelot whisper.

"It's my belief that a good king should never excuse in himself the faults he finds in others. While it's true that Lancelot violated the trust I placed in him, I'm no less guilty of that crime myself. I betrayed you all through the misguided affection I bore for Agravaine. My willful blindness placed the entire kingdom at risk, and yet here you are, willing to give me another chance."

Arthur paused, taking a deep breath. "So what is the right answer here? Do I condemn a man who, just like myself, did what he did out of love rather than hatred? Or do I grant him the same privilege I have, the chance to learn from his mistakes and become a better man?"

He walked in a circle around Lancelot, frowning thoughtfully as he glanced over at the occupants of the table.

"Perhaps this should be our first opportunity to see that justice is done, working in unity rather than at odds with one another. All those in favor of Lancelot being returned to his former position as a Knight of Camelot, please rise to your feet."

Tears filled Gwen's eyes as old friends and strangers alike stood in support of the man who was watching them in disbelief. The knights were first, followed by all the court advisers whom Lancelot had always treated with courtesy and respect. Only two hesitated – Merlin, lips twitching with humor as he made a show of relaxing in his chair before suddenly shooting to his feet, and Elyan, shaking his head with a sigh of resignation as he joined the others.

Arthur's face broke into a grin. "Well, that's a relief. I never felt right about having the best fighter I've ever seen reduced to guarding a wall."

"The best you've ever seen?" Merlin asked him, raising his eyebrows.

"Well, it's not like I can watch myself. Lancelot? On your knees."

The entire room seemed to hold its breath as Lancelot knelt at Arthur's feet, trembling with emotion as he lowered his head in a respectful bow.

"Arise, Sir Lancelot," Arthur said, his voice soft and full of feeling. "Knight of Camelot."

The hall erupted into wild cheers as Lancelot strode over to the table and took his seat between Merlin and Gwaine. There was only one chair left now, but Gwen wasn't thinking about that. She was too busy trying to focus on how happy she was for Lancelot while attempting to stifle her reaction as another pain shuddered through her, stronger than the last.

"Guinevere? Please come forward."

It was a monumental effort, but she somehow managed to walk across the room, hoping her discomfort wasn't too obvious. She was beyond caring what Arthur might want – all she wanted to do was retrieve her newly knighted husband so she could go home and suffer in relative peace.

But then the contraction released her from its grip and she breathed a sigh of relief, staring up at Arthur with newfound curiosity.

"Guinevere," he said quietly, the emotion in his eyes soft and bittersweet as he gazed down at her. "No matter what else has happened between us, I know you have always had my best interests at heart. Your wise counsel and sound advice have helped me tremendously over the years, and that's not something I want to lose. If you will do both myself and Camelot the honor, the final seat belongs to you."

"I… I don't know what to say."

"I believe 'yes' might be a good place to start," he told her, smiling at the sound of scattered chuckles behind him.

She was settled between Elyan and Gaius when the next pain radiated through her lower back and around to her midsection, interrupting a conversation about a routine patrol that was being planned for the next day as she let out a sharp gasp.

"Are you all right?" 

"I'm fine," she responded to whoever it was through gritted teeth, though she managed to smile at the concerned faces around her. "Arthur, may I be excused? I'm… I think the baby's coming."


	124. Epilogue: A Golden Age (Part Two)

#  **Epilogue: A Golden Age (Part Two)**

* * *

"Almost there," Lancelot told Gwen in what he hoped was a reassuring voice, though his hands were shaking so badly that he could hardly free the latch. 

They'd been offered the use of the physician's chamber, but she'd refused, insisting she would have the baby at home and nowhere else. She'd also snubbed Lancelot's attempts to carry her, accepting only the support of his arm during the endless walk from the palace to the lower town. They'd been forced to stop several times when she'd been hit by another contraction, each leaving him terrified she'd end up giving birth right there in the street. 

But somehow they'd made it home, and the midwife would be arriving shortly. Everything would be all right now… or at least that was what Lancelot kept telling himself. He could only hope that enough repetition would make him believe it.

"What should I do?" he asked her as he closed the door behind them.

"Help me undress. I'm burning up and my skirt is soaked through. I think my water broke with that last one."

"I… is that…?"

"Perfectly normal," she told him as he unfastened her gown and drew it down over her shoulders. "It just means the baby is moving into position to be born."

He let out a sigh of relief, but that feeling didn't last. She wasn't wearing any underclothes; there was only that massive belly beneath her dress, terrifying him all over again with the thought that what she was about to go through had to be physically impossible.

"I know," she moaned when she saw the look on his face. "I'm _huge!_ I must look awful."

"No, no, it isn't that. I just…" But he couldn't tell her he was frightened. That was the last thing she needed to hear. "What else can I do?"

"Light a few more candles and make yourself something to eat. I'm going to lay down."

"What? No, I… I'm not hungry."

She settled herself on the bed, leaning back against a pile of pillows as she rested her hands on the huge mound of her belly. "You haven't had anything since this morning," she said quietly, "and this is only the beginning. It's going to get a lot worse before it's over."

He looked at her with wide eyes. "I thought you were already…"

But he was interrupted by a brisk knock, one that didn't need to be answered as the midwife pushed the door open. She was a stout woman with iron gray hair and a grim set to her mouth, but there was kindness in her hazel eyes and a gentle lilt to her voice as she immediately shuffled over to the bed.

"Suppose this is your fault?" she said, giving Lancelot a stern look as she patted Gwen's swollen stomach.

"I, ah… yes, but I didn't… I wasn't meaning to…"

She chuckled as she turned back to Gwen, reaching down to probe between her thighs. "Love to do that. Always gets a rise out of them."

Gwen started to respond, but the words were lost as she bit her lip and grabbed fistfuls of blanket. Letting out a low moan, she rode out the contraction until it finally released her, panting softly as she collapsed against the pillows.

"How does it look?" she asked a moment later as the midwife bent forward to resume her examination. 

The older woman shook her head with an apologetic smile. "I'm afraid you're in for a long night, my lady. What you need to do for now is try to rest as much as possible between the pains. You'll need it later."

"All right," Gwen agreed, looking up at Lancelot who was hovering at her side. "But only if he eats."

She had him, even before the other woman cheerfully announced that she wouldn't mind a little something herself. It was strange to find himself in the kitchen heating up leftover stew with what was going on across the room, but he glanced back over his shoulder to see that Gwen was indeed resting, eyes closed with a peaceful expression on her face.

"Got any wine to go with that?"

Lancelot nodded, pouring out a cup and setting it on the table in front of the midwife before he sat down and attempted to swallow a bit of food. His bowl was half finished when Gwen suddenly hissed, bracing herself on her arms as she sat up to meet another wave of pain.

"No, don't get up," she said breathlessly, lowering herself back onto the pillows with a wan smile. "It... it isn't so bad."

But that was the last time she was able to make such a claim; the next contraction hit her much harder, followed by another that left her clinging to the bed frame with tears running down her cheeks. After that, they came upon her one after another, steadily growing worse until she abandoned any pretense of bravery and gave voice to her suffering.

There was nothing Lancelot could do other than stay beside her, holding her hand and murmuring soft words of comfort as he gave her sips of water and ran cool cloths over her sweat dampened skin. It was a merciless thing – after a few hours, she didn't even have time to recover before the next wave of pain shuddered through her, lying limp and exhausted for what seemed like only a matter of seconds before she was crying out again.

"Transition," the midwife muttered under her breath. 

"What does that mean?" he demanded anxiously as Gwen whimpered and writhed through another contraction, gripping his hand so hard he could feel his bones grinding together.

"It means she's almost ready to start pushing. Getting closer to the end now."

By the time Gwen made it to the final stage, sweating and straining and groaning in anguish as she struggled to push their child into the world, Lancelot had sworn to himself a hundred times that he'd never, _ever_ do this to her again. It seemed as if her suffering would last forever, candles sputtering out all around them just as the first gray light crept into the room. By the end of it, she was slumped against the pillows, too drained to hold herself upright as he swallowed hard in response to her broken sobs.

"I can't do it. I can't…"

"Just give it one more push," the midwife urged as she knelt between her legs. "One more… another... yes, that's it! I can see the head!"

And with one last terrible scream, it was over. The baby slid out into a pair of waiting hands and then there was a flurry of activity, the cutting of the cord and a bit of cleaning up as the sound of loud, insistent cries filled the room. It all happened so swiftly that Lancelot barely realized what was going on until a tiny bundle was placed in Gwen's arms.

"My lady? You have a son."

There was a look of wonder on her face as she gazed down at him, tracing his tiny features with the tip of her finger. "He's so beautiful."

"That he is, my lady. Might want to let his father hold him so we can finish cleaning you up here."

As reluctant as she seemed to surrender the baby, Gwen handed him to Lancelot after a moment, gazing up at him with a blissful smile. "Take him to the window," she whispered. "Let him see his first sunrise."

The baby was already asleep, but he saw no need to share that information. He was too busy staring in awe at a face that looked uncannily like his own, cradling his newborn son against his chest like some precious treasure as he parted the curtains to allow the gentle light of dawn to wash over them. The tears were unexpected, but not unwelcome, the only response that seemed natural in the face of so much happiness. 

All the same, he'd wiped them away by the time he returned to Gwen's side. She looked pale and tired but somehow more beautiful than ever as she accepted the child and brought him to her breast. Gasping as he took hold and began to suckle greedily, she looked down at him in surprise just before her face broke into a huge grin.

"You did well, my lady," Lancelot said softly, taking her hand and raising it to his lips.

She frowned in confusion before she remembered, staring up at him with wide eyes that were filled with a different kind of wonder. "Oh, I _am_ a lady now, aren't I? The knighthood, I'd completely forgotten…"

He chuckled as he reached down to stroke the baby's dark hair, wondering if it would be curly like hers or straight like his own. "With good reason, I'd say."

"And we can stay in Camelot for good, and… I never thought it was possible to have everything I've ever wanted. Not like this."

Smiling gently, he took a seat next to the bed. "Nor did I. How does it make you feel?"

"Honestly?" she asked him, her voice drowsy and filled with contentment.

"Of course."

_"Sleepy."_

Laughing softly, he leaned over for one more kiss as Gwen's eyes drifted closed, knowing the sound of his joyous amusement would follow her into the land of dreams. It didn't take him long to realize he was exhausted himself, gazing in adoration at his wife and newborn son until his own eyelids grew heavy, beckoning him to join them as they slumbered peacefully beside him.

That was the moment, surrendering to the gentle darkness with a sigh of satisfaction, when Sir Lancelot realized he'd finally become everything he'd ever wanted to be.

~*~  
 **THE END**  
~*~

 **Author's Note:** I didn't include my own comments throughout most of _Undeniable_ because I wanted to let the story speak for itself. Now that it's finished, however, there are a few things I'd like to say:

First and foremost, I'd like to thank everyone who has reviewed this story, whether just once or on a regular basis. This has been the biggest and most challenging writing project I've ever attempted, and I don't have the words to express how much your kindness and encouragement have kept me going, especially during the low points when it seemed like I'd never be able to finish.

Second, thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read, even if you choose not to leave any feedback. While I'd love to hear your thoughts, I'm immensely grateful to you either way.

 _Undeniable_ was originally intended to be a short project, an outlet for me to express frustration at a beautiful character (Lancelot) being given such a tragic and insufficient storyline on the BBC show _Merlin_. But once I started writing, _Undeniable_ became a bit of an obsession, so many stories left untold and countless paths to follow. I can only hope that I did justice to a few of those possibilities, and that readers have enjoyed my humble adaptation of the love story between Lancelot and Guinevere. I certainly have – far from being drained at the end of such a long story, I can't wait to write about them again. :)

Thank you so much. Your support has meant more to me than you will ever know.


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